Best 17621 quotes in «war quotes» category

Danny Dietz died right there in my arms. I don't know how quickly hearts break, but that nearly broke mine... I had to leave him or else die out here with him. But I knew one thing was certain. I still had my rifle and I was not alone, and neither was Danny, a devout Roman Catholic. I left him with God.

«Danike, racconti un po’ della guerra prima che si vada a dormire?» chiesi. Danijar dapprima continuò a tacere ed ebbe anche l’aria di prendersela a male. Guardò a lungo il fuoco, poi alzò il capo e ci lanciò un’occhiata. «La guerra, dici?» domandò; e, come rispondendo a un suo pensiero, aggiunse sordamente: «No! Meglio per voi non saper niente della guerra!» Poi si voltò da un’altra parte, prese una bracciata d’erbacce secche e, gettandola nel braciere, si mise a soffiare sul fuoco senza guardare nessuno di noi. Danijar non aggiunse altro. Ma bastò quella breve frase perché fosse chiaro che non si poteva, così, semplicemente, parlare della guerra, e che non ne avremmo ricavato una fiaba per addormentarsi. La guerra s’era coagulata come sangue nel profondo del cuore di quell’uomo e trarne racconti non era facile. Provai vergogna di fronte a me stesso. E mai più feci domande sulla guerra a Danijar.

Darkness. The door into the neighboring room is not quite shut. A strip of light stretches through the crack in the door across the ceiling. People are walking about by lamplight. Something has happened. The strip moves faster and faster and the dark walls move further and further apart, into infinity. This room is London and there are thousands of doors. The lamps dart about and the strips dart across the ceiling. And perhaps it is all delirium... Something had happened. The black sky above London burst into fragments: white triangles, squares and lines - the silent geometric delirium of searchlights. The blinded elephant buses rushed somewhere headlong with their lights extinguished. The distinct patter along the asphalt of belated couples, like a feverish pulse, died away. Everywhere doors slammed and lights were put out. And the city lay deserted, hollow, geometric, swept clean by a sudden plague: silent domes, pyramids, circles, arches, towers, battlements.

Davout looked up and gazed intently at him. For some seconds they looked at one another, and that look saved Pierre. Apart from conditions of war and law, that look established human relations between the two men. At that moment an immense number of things passed dimly through both their minds, and they realized that they were both children of humanity and were brothers.

Das Mädchen […] hatte wasserblaue Augen, die so klar waren, als hätten sie noch nie im Leben Leid oder Schrecken gesehen. Und dennoch spiegelte sich darin auch Härte. Was hast du erlebt, dass du dich nun an einen Krieg verkaufst?, hätte Summer sie am liebsten gefragt. Weißt du, was du tust? Weißt du, wie es ist, grausam zu sein, zu leiden und zu sterben?

Dawn, slowly filling Church Street with grey light, disclosed another day of war. Because it did this, this dawn bore no more resemblance to a peace-time dawn than the aspect of nature on a Sunday bears a resemblance to the aspect of nature on a weekday. Thus it seemed that dawn itself had been grimly harnessed to the war effort.

DB: There's a lot of talk about terrorism. In fact, it's become almost an obsession for the media in the United States. But it's a very narrow definition of terrorism. AR: Yes. It completely ignores the economic terrorism unleashed by neoliberalism, which devastates the lives of millions of people, depriving them of water, food, electricity. Denying them medicine. Denying them education. Terrorism is the logical extension of this business of the free market. Terrorism is the privatization of war. Terrorists are the free marketeers of war - people who believe that it isn't only the state that can wage war, but private parties as well. If you look at the logic underlying an act of terrorism and the logic underlying a retaliatory war against terrorism, they are the same. Both terrorists and governments make ordinary people pay for the actions of their governments. Osama bin Laden is making people pay for the actions of the US state, whether it's in Saudi Arabia, Palestine, or Afghanistan. The US government is making the people of Iraq pay for the actions of Saddam Hussein. The people of Afghanistan pay for the crimes of the Taliban. The logic is the same. Osama bin Laden and George Bush are both terrorists. They are both building international networks that perpetrate terror and devastate people's lives. Bush, with the Pentagon, the WTO, the IMF, and the World Bank. Bin Laden with Al Qaeda.

Dear Lord I am tired of forgiving people that offended me. Is there anyway you can fix this people's mind to do the right thing? Dear Lord I am tired of loving those that hate me, can you please replace their hateful heart with a lovng spirit. Dear Lord I am tired of hearing people complaining about the world not being peaceful, no money, so much wars and no love. Can you please open their eyes to see that there will be no peace for a wicked man. Remind them that you promised to supply all their needs and that with you all things are possible but it is possible to only those that believe just as I believe that only you can fix any hurting soul and situations.

Dear Lord please show me what really matters so that I may be able to determine what is distraction and God's direction in my life.

Dear Beloved woman, Time… so much time has passed since my love wrote his last words for me. And yet I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember writing back and for the first time since I had left home I told my love what kind of darkness surrounded me here. I forgot all the sweet things my father had said to my mother when he was away. I forgot how they got her through all those long and lonely nights.

Dear Bill, I came to this black wall again, to see and touch your name. William R. Stocks. And as I do, I wonder if anyone ever stops to realize that next to your name, on this black wall, is your mother's heart. A heart broken fifteen years ago today, when you lost your life in Vietnam. And as I look at your name, I think of how many, many times I used to wonder how scared and homesick you must have been, in that strange country called Vietnam. And if and how it might have changed you, for you were the most happy-go-lucky kid in the world, hardly ever sad or unhappy. And until the day I die, I will see you as you laughed at me, even when I was very mad at you. And the next thing I knew, we were laughing together. But on this past New Year's Day, I talked by phone to a friend of yours from Michigan, who spent your last Christmas and the last four months of your life with you. Jim told me how you died, for he was there and saw the helicopter crash. He told me how your jobs were like sitting ducks; they would send you men out to draw the enemy into the open, and then, they would send in the big guns and planes to take over. He told me how after a while over there, instead of a yellow streak, the men got a mean streak down their backs. Each day the streak got bigger, and the men became meaner. Everyone but you, Bill. He said how you stayed the same happy-go-lucky guy that you were when you arrived in Vietnam. And he said how you, of all people, should never have been the one to die. How lucky you were to have him for a friend. And how lucky he was to have had you. They tell me the letters I write to you and leave here at this memorial are waking others up to the fact that there is still much pain left from the Vietnam War. But this I know; I would rather to have had you for twenty-one years and all the pain that goes with losing you, than never to have had you at all. -Mom

Dear Trumptards, so how are you enjoying the beginning of World War 3 so far? Is it all you hoped it would be?

Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breath No spine to shiver, no heart talks At life’s craving poverty mocks From the poem 'Exhumation

Decades would pass. A few short sections would be formed in time into strangely resurrected, trunkless legs-tourist sites, sacred sites, national sites. For the line was broken, as all lines finally are; it was on longing for meaning and hope, but the annals of the past are a muddy story of chaos only. And of that colossal ruin, boundless and buried, the lone and level jungle stretched far away. Of imperial dreams and dead men, all that remained was long grass.

Declare war on poverty, not the poor.

Declare love on anyone who wants to make war with you.

Defeating the enemy through deception with little loss of life is better than fighting face-to-face with the loss of many lives on both sides.

Della guerra, a me e Alì non è mai importato niente. Si sparassero pure per strada, non ci riguardava. Perché la guerra non poteva toglierci l'unica cosa importante: quello che lui era per me e quello che io ero per lui.

¿De qué serviría presentar objeciones? Un huracán es un acto de Dios. Quizá la guerra también lo sea... todavía no lo sé. Por ahora mi opinión es que la guerra es un acto de los hombres. No me gusta. La odio con todas mis fuerzas. Pero cuando su furia me arrastra, no veo que pueda hacer nada... excepto desear que pueda salir con vida de ella, y te aseguro que es lo que estoy esperando.

Destruction makes people go away so,if you hide inside destruction,you're safe

Determination wins battles. Perseverance wins wars.

Destruction is a man's will, Nevertheless Prevention is also a man's will, Its a man's choice to choose between Destruction and Prevention. :)

Dickinson left the rostrum to applause, loud shouts of approval. Franklin was surprised, looked toward Adams, who returned the look, shook his head. The chamber was dismissed, and Franklin pushed himself slowly up out of the chair. He began to struggle a bit, pain in both knees, the stiffness holding him tightly, felt a hand under his arm. “Allow me, sir.” Adams helped him up, commenting as he did so, “We have a substantial lack of backbone in this room, I’m afraid.” Franklin looked past him, saw Dickinson standing close behind, staring angrily at Adams, reacting to his words. “Mr. Dickinson, a fine speech, sir,” said Franklin. Adams seemed suddenly embarrassed, did not look behind him, nodded quickly to Franklin, moved away toward the entrance. Franklin saw Dickinson following Adams, began to follow himself. My God, let’s not have a duel. He slipped through the crowd of delegates, making polite acknowledgments left and right, still keeping his eye on Dickinson. The man was gone now, following Adams out of the hall. Franklin reached the door, could see them both, heard the taller man call out, saw Adams turn, a look of surprise. Franklin moved closer, heard Adams say, “My apologies for my indiscreet remark, sir. However, I am certain you are aware of my sentiments.” Dickinson seemed to explode in Adams’ face. “What is the reason, Mr. Adams, that you New England men oppose our measures of reconciliation? Why do you hold so tightly to this determined opposition to petitioning the king?” Franklin heard other men gathering behind him, filling the entranceway, Dickinson’s volume drawing them. He could see Adams glancing at them and then saying, “Mr. Dickinson, this is not an appropriate time...” “Mr. Adams, can you not respond? Do you not desire an end to talk of war?” Adams seemed struck by Dickinson’s words, looked at him for a long moment. “Mr. Dickinson, if you believe that all that has fallen upon us is merely talk, I have no response. There is no hope of avoiding a war, sir, because the war has already begun. Your king and his army have seen to that. Please, excuse me, sir.” Adams began to walk away, and Franklin could see Dickinson look back at the growing crowd behind him, saw a strange desperation in the man’s expression, and Dickinson shouted toward Adams, “There is no sin in hope!

Didn’t young people care what the generation before them had achieved? And if not, why had everyone gone through those grim difficult wartime years?

Did not the souls also of the righteous ask question of these things in their chambers, saying, "How long shall I hope on this fashion?" when cometh the fruit of the floor of our reward?

Die Revolution wirkte auf mich und meine Altersgenossen gerade umgekehrt wie der Krieg: der Krieg hatte unser wirkliches Leben bis zur Langweiligkeit unverändert gelassen, dafür aber unsere Phantasie reichen und unerschöpflichen Stoff gegeben. Die Revolution brachte viel Neues in die tägliche Wirklichkeit, und das Neue war bunt und aufregend genug, aber sie ließ die Phantasie unbeschädigt.

Diese Haltung zur Opferung von Menschenleben ist seltsam. Militärbefehlshaber überlegen nicht zweimal, wenn sie Soldaten in die Schlacht schicken und dabei genau wissen, dass viele von ihnen sterben werden. [...] Andererseits verbietet es der Offiziersethos, einzelne Soldaten auszuwählen und ihnen zu befehlen, ihr Leben zu opfern [...]. Und doch - und das ist noch paradoxer - werden Soldaten, die eine solche Tat aus eigener Initiative vollbringen, als Helden betrachtet.

Differences disappear when faced with death.

Di gran furore si pregna il suo scheletro, bagliori saettano, uscendo e rientrando da essa come rincorsi durante una fuga. Sembra un dio del cielo, pieno di boria, quando ai mortali si appresta a elargire doni che celano invero soltanto inganni. Alza l’avambraccio, contrae il bicipite, rilucono nei sui occhi di ghiaccio le luci ornate dai lapislazzuli. Secco il rilascio. Un potente boato squassa l’intero suolo.

Di gran furore si pregna il suo scheletro, bagliori saettano, uscendo e rientrando da essa come rincorsi durante una fuga. Sembra un dio del cielo, pieno di boria, quando ai mortali si appresta a elargire doni che celano invero soltanto inganni. Alza l’avambraccio, contrae il bicipite, rilucono nei suoi occhi di ghiaccio le luci ornate dai lapislazzuli. Secco il rilascio. Un potente boato squassa l’intero suolo.

Dignitaries may sign treaties, but wars never end. Oil dries and bombs run out, but never a mother's tears.

Diplomacy never works.

Discord on one level is harmony on another

Displaced Person’s Song If you see a train this evening, Far away, against the sky, Lie down in your woolen blanket, Sleep and let the train go by. Trains have called us, every midnight, From a thousand miles away, Trains that pass through empty cities, Trains that have no place to stay. No one drives the locomotive, No one tends the staring light, Trains have never needed riders, Trains belong to bitter night. Railway stations stand deserted, Rights-of-way lie clear and cold, What we left them, trains inherit, Trains go on, and we grow old. Let them cry like cheated lovers, Let their cries find only wind, Trains are meant for night and ruin, And we are meant for song and sin.

Divide and conquer. That’s the global elite’s proven strategy when it comes to its treatment of Third World countries in Africa and indeed throughout the world. Or, to put it another way, order out of chaos is the global elite’s favored tactic. They engineer chaos by financing both sides of revolutions, movements and civil wars then create order by providing solutions to governments and citizens in these war-torn countries.

Division and separation means no harm to the society. It makes everyone unique.

Distance from the troubled past is the product of economic and social change more than reflection or the mere passage of time, which may have little effect. To the extent that the basic circumstances of life remain unchanged, time becomes irrelevant; in fact, it may even deepen the hold of former attitudes, turning them into ancient truths. But as the foundations of social reality alter and the circumstances of daily life take on a new character, society can more easily accept hard truths and discard old controversies. It gains an ability to leave its past in the past and move into a different future. [...] The desire of a few individuals to “overcome the past,” to rise above enmity and engage a different future after a destructive war, is laudable but rarely is achievable for an entire society. Substantial numbers of people will defend old positions or insist on the validity of their grievances, and the next generation may revive propaganda or condemn efforts to “forget.” Eventually, however, the world moves on, and changed realities allow acceptance of bitter truths about a troubled past. As progressively greater numbers acknowledge the past, historical wounds close, even those of bloody civil war [192—93].

Distance, the dissonance insurmountable, would be not the end, but a magnet. When fingertips kiss, they imprint and cement something, that cannot be disintegrated. Time becomes a phantom, the wind becomes an anchor, and old dreams- blankets of warmth. Lull with me, Lady, there is no greater escape. Love and war, even when buttered on toast, still makes for the breakfast of champions.

Doesn't it seem that it is always by chance that these things happen, or is it because of the generosity of a shared knowledge of suffering that allows for it?

do many calculations lead to victory, and few calculations to defeat

Dogmatic theology is, by its very nature, unchangeable. The same can be said in regard to the spirit of the law. Law was and is to protect the past and present status of society and, by its very essence, must be very conservative, if not reactionary. Theology and law are both of them static by their nature. Philosophy, law and ethics, to be effective in a dynamic world must be dynamic; they must be made vital enough to keep pace with the progress of life and science. In recent civilization ethics, because controlled by theology and law, which are static, could not duly influence the dynamic, revolutionary progress of technic and the steadily changing conditions of life; and so we witness a tremendous downfall of morals in politics and business. Life progresses faster than our ideas, and so medieval ideas, methods and judgments are constantly applied to the conditions and problems of modern life. This discrepancy between facts and ideas is greatly responsible for the dividing of modern society into different warring classes, which do not understand each other. Medieval legalism and medieval morals- the basis of the old social structure-being by their nature conservative, reactionary, opposed to change, and thus becoming more and more unable to support the mighty social burden of the modern world, must be adjudged responsible in a large measure for the circumstances which made the World War inevitable.

Do no be ashamed to make a temporary withdrawal from the field if you see that your enemy is stronger than you; it is not winning or losing a single battle that matters, but how the war ends.

Do not avert your eyes. It is important that you see this. It is important that you feel this.

Do not confuse my silence for weakness; it is only a weapon of choice when preparing for war.

Do not go into battle without an armed mind" RjS

Do not think of defeat if the battle is not won yet

Don’t be afraid of failures it takes courage to try new things & only those who try create History.

Don't ask creator to guide your footsteps if you're not willing to move your feet.

Don’t be afraid of failures it takes courage to try new things & only those who try create miracles.

Don't be taken in when they pat you paternally on the shoulder and say that there's no inequality worth speaking of and no more reason for fighting. Because if you believe them they will be completely in charge in their marble homes and granite banks from which they rob the people of the world under the pretense of bringing them culture. Watch out, for as soon as it pleases them they'll send you out to protect their gold in wars whose weapons rapidly developed by servile scientists will become more and more deadly until they can with a flick of the finger tear a million of you into pieces.