Best 141 quotes in «world war 2 quotes» category

I am German, yes, but I am not a Nazi. There is a difference, and one day I hope you understand that.

I can’t recite the chronology or elaborate on the facts. I can’t explain the reasons or defend how we lived our lives. What I can tell you is how the events of 1933 sowed the seeds that fundamentally changed our future, that there was little hand-wringing or emotion, that circumstances were beyond control, that there was no recourse or appeal. I can tell you that events were incremental, that the unbelievable became the believable and, ultimately, the normal. Ralph Webster, A Smile in One Eye: a Tear in the Other

I can’t recite the chronology or elaborate on the facts. I can’t explain the reasons or defend how we lived our lives. What I can tell you is how the events of 1933 sowed the seeds that fundamentally changed our future, that there was little hand-wringing or emotion, that circumstances were beyond control, that there was no recourse or appeal. I can tell you that events were incremental, that the unbelievable became the believable and, ultimately, the normal.

I don't really know; I'm not in the Operations Room, you see. All I do know is that the world has a Chief who was victorious when the powers of darkness struck at Him with everything they had. He has the plans today. The darkness won't last forever. There's a splendor beyond. ~Flying Officer George Dymory Ingleford, Enemy Brothers

I do so dislike H. G. Wells being accompanied by Wagner, don't you Mr. Ford?” … he was forced to acknowledge the aptness of the phrase. Nazism combines a crassly mechanical futurism with the fuss and fume of a tawdry pseudo-Gothic misconception of the past.

If a bomb has your name on it, you are dead whatever you do; and if not, it will miss you.

I didn't wait to see her ship go off, because partings are stupid things and best got over quickly

I can tell you that events were incremental, that the unbelievable became the believable and, ultimately, the normal.

If you can't change it don't worry about it.

If you have sacrificed my nation to preserve the peace of the world, I will be the first to applaud you. But if not, gentlemen, God help your souls." Czechoslovakian foreign minister Jan Masaryk to Lord Halifax as reaction to announcement of allies' betrayal in 1938.

If [pacifists] imagine that one can somehow "overcome" the German army by lying on one's back, let them go on imagining it, but let them also wonder occasionally whether this is not an illusion due to security, too much money and a simple ignorance of the way in which things actually happen.

If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die.

If you only knew, all of you, how the camp remains in all our minds, and will until we die.

I'm sorry! It's just that it hurts so much and it never stops!

In November, when our nation remembers her fallen soldiers and honours the lost youth of my generation, the Prime Minister, government leaders and the hollow men of business affix paper poppies to their lapels and afford the dead of war two minutes' silence. Afterwards, they speak golden platitudes about the struggle and the heroism of that time. Yet the words they speak are meaningless because they have surrendered the values my generation built after the horrors of the Second World War.

In Sugamo, Louie asked his escort what had happened to the Bird. He was told that it was believed that the former sergeant, hunted, exiled and in despair, had stabbed himself to death. The words washed over Louie. In prison camp, Watanabe had forced him to live in incomprehensible degradation and violence. Bereft of his dignity, Louie had come home to a life lost in darkness, and had dashed himself against the memory of the Bird. But on an October night in Los Angeles, Louie had found, in Payton Jordan’s words, “daybreak.” That night, the sense of shame and powerlessness that had driven his hate the Bird had vanished. The Bird was no longer his monster. He was only a man. In Sugamo Prison, as he was told of Watanabe’s fate, all Louie saw was a lost person, a life beyond redemption. He felt something that he had never felt fro his captor before. With a shiver of amazement, he realized that it was compassion. At that moment, something shifted swiftly inside him. It was forgiveness, beautiful and effortless and complete. For Louie Zamperini, the was was over.

In the way of a reflection of my family and friends I mused at the number of people that I encountered during the past 85 years. Everyone here has played an important part but there have been others, many of whom have now passed across the horizon of life, however the purpose of my reminiscing is to share happy thoughts while at the same time take a peek into the future. I can look back to those first few glimpses of my life and find my grandmother Ohme, Gertrude Thieme standing at what I perceived to be a high kitchen counter making sandwiches using a slice of almost not eatable German black bread they called schwartsbrod. With great care she laden it with lard, blootwurst or sometimes liberwurst, topped with the half of a crusty Keiser roll. I always got the heel of the roll, with a quarter lengthwise slice of a crunchy dill pickle. It was the first and last time I remember seeing her before she returned to Germany and the war. My sister Trudy had died a few years prior leaving a collective hole in my family. Her short life and subsequent death was devastating to my mother and father and I constantly felt the sorrow it brought into our home. My father unsuccessfully tried to make a success of a small delicatessen at 11 Nelson Avenue in Jersey City and we moved to 25 Nelson Avenue when my father started working as a chef at Lindy’s Restaurant on Broadway in Manhattan. At home we exclusively spoke German which was a hindrance during World War II. My mother and father never lost their German accent and the only one of my family that made a real effort to speak English without an accent was my Onkle Willie. My parents refused to associate with my Onkle Walter and his wife Tante Wilma although they always treated me kindly and I sometimes talked with my cousins Klein Walter und Norma. The neighborhood treated us as NAZI outcasts until Italy entered the war on the Axis side and suddenly we all had to prove that we were patriotic. Eventually I joined the tin can army and learned enough English to be accepted. As my accent faded I truly became an American.

In the eleven months preceding the outbreak of World War II, 211 treaties of peace were signed. Were these treaties of peace written on paper, or were they written on the hearts of men? And we must ask ourselves as we hear of treaties being written today, whether the treaties of the UN are written with the full cognizance of the fact that those who sign them are responsible before God?

In the future, Martin will recall this night as the first time -- and one of the only times -- he ever saw Germans crying in public, not at the news of a dead loved one or at the sight of their bombed home, and not in physical pain, but from spontaneous emotion. For this brief time, they were not hiding from one another, wearing their masks of cold and practical detachment. The music stirred the hardened sediment of their memory, chafed against layers of horror and shame, and offered a rare solace in their shared anger, grief and guilt.

Is war a sin?

It grey louder. Louder. They were singing, singing at the top of their lungs. Andrius joined, and then my brother and the gray-haired man. And finally, the bald man joined in, singing out national anthem. 'Lithuania, land of heroes...

It had never occurred to me that simply being with a fellow prisoner would make me feel like I was still in prison.

It's a good thing we won the war. If we hadn't, I'd be hanged as a war criminal" -- Gen Curtis LeMay, quoted by Mahaffey, p.231 On March 10, 1945, LeMay's XXI Bomber Command sent 334 B-29's to Tokyo, loaded with 1,669 tons of incendiary bombs. The resulting firestorm killed over 100,000 Japanese and injured over a million. A quarter of the industrial production in Tokyo was destroyed. (p.232, paraphrased) The atomic bombing of Hiroshima, on August 6, 1945, killed around 120,000 Japanese. (Wikipedia)

In time I told Clarissa the difficulties we had had escaping from the war zone. She warmed up to me as we worked together and I felt that I could trust her. Once when the farmer was away we undertook to till a field with a southern exposure. I wore the harness and pulled the plow like a horse as she steered it. Together we plowed an entire field alone, preparing it for the springtime planting. Their farm was alongside the main road going up the mountain directly behind the Village of Überlingen. It was situated high on one of the foothills of the Alps that surround the Bodensee.

It’s said that if you can hear a bomb whistle, then you’re safe. It’s the bomb you don’t hear that rips the roof from your building, pulverizes the walls, and buries you alive in a heap of smoldering slag. Still, the whistling builds up inside you like a scream. You can’t help but hold your breath.

It seemed impossible that men with hearts and brains were capable of it. Such devastation of cities, so many innocent lives lost. It seemed to him that if just a small part of the effort put into war could be put into peace, they'd be so much better off

It was as if an entire people had been condemned to live in Plato's cave, with their backs to the fire of life and deriving their only knowledge of what went on outside from the flickering shadows thrown on the wall before their eyes by the men and women who passed to and fro behind them. When after six years they emerged, dazzled, from the cave into the light, it was a new and vastly different world.

It was at gunpoint that I fell into every hope and allowed myself to wish from the deepest parts of my heart. Komorov thought he was torturing us. But we were escaping into the stillness within ourselves. We found strength there.

It was difficult to understand him. On the one hand he pandered even to the most unimportant things while on the other he was excessive and unfeeling. He might show the most fatherly concern for a female secretary who had stabbed her toe but be utterly ice-cold when issuing orders which set thousands to their deaths.

It was harder for the ones who were waiting, Annemarie knew. Less danger, perhaps, but more fear.

It was the second time in a row they were expecting us. We’ve got an informer in our group.” Johannes aka ‘BB’ The Informer by Steen Langstrup

it was so beautiful', he said. 'the Three Pagodas Pass must be one of the loveliest places in the world. you've got this broad valley with the river running down it, and the jungle forest, and the mountains....we used to sit by the river and watch the sun setting behind the mountains, sometimes, and say what a marvellous place it would be to come to for a holiday. however terrible a prison camp may be, it makes a difference if its beautiful.

J’ai déjà dit que la Communauté juive s’était chargée de recruter les travailleurs pour le service obligatoire afin d’épargner à la population la terreur des rafles. Chaque jour, les autorités allemandes lui communiquaient les instructions concernant le nombre d’hommes à fournir et le lieux où ceux-ci devaient se rendre. La Communauté envoyait des convocations aux personnes désignées. Ces billets indiquaient la date de la prestation et portaient l’avertissement suivant : les requis qui ne se présenteraient pas seraient signalés immédiatement à la police et sévèrement punis. Les rassemblements se faisaient à six heures du matin devant l’immeuble de la Communauté ou place Grzybow. Des chefs d’équipe permanents inscrivaient les ouvriers et les accompagnaient sur les chantiers sous la garde de soldats allemands. En décembre 1939, une nouvelle ordonnance obligea tous les Juifs de sexe masculin, âgés de douze à soixante ans, à se faire procéder à leur enregistrement. Tout homme inscrit reçut une carte portant sa photographie et mentionnant son identité, sa profession, ses occupations. Chaque mois, il lui fallait faire timbrer cette carte au bureau de la Communauté. Celui qui exerçait un travail régulier devait, en outre, verser au moins 20 zlotys à chaque vérification de sa fiche. Grâce à cette taxe, il était plus ou moins assuré de travailler à l’intérieur de la ville. Les Juifs sans emploi étaient portés sur la liste des « bataillons de travailleurs » envoyés, en général, dans des camps, à l’extérieur de la ville ; ils subissaient là l’enfer de l’esclavage, des souffrances morales et physiques ainsi que les pires humiliations. Ces bataillons de travailleurs étaient habituellement chargés de la construction des routes, de l’élargissement et de la consolidation des berges de la Vistule. Ils travaillaient comme de véritables bagnards. Des milliers d’entre eux ne revinrent jamais. Lorsqu’un requis n’obéissait pas à la convocation, la police arrêtait une personne de son entourage - souvent un malade ou un vieillard. Le ghetto faisait partie intégrante du mécanisme économique de l’appareil de guerre nazi. Des Allemands, comme Tebenz, mirent sur pied dans le ghetto même de gigantesques fabriques où l’on confectionna des vêtements militaires et civils dans les étoffes d’excellente qualité volées par les Allemands dans toute la Pologne. Un Allemand de Dantzig, Shulz, qui avant la guerre traitait des affaires avec des Juifs polonais, ouvrit rue Nowolipie plusieurs ateliers où l’on travailla le cuir et la fourrure. Leszczinsky, un Polonais, monta rue Ogrodowa de vastes ateliers d’habillement. Une société commerciale composée d’Allemands, de Volksdeutschen, de Polonais et de Juifs entreprit la fabrication d’articles de brosserie. La matière première fut fournie par les autorités allemandes. La production était utilisée généralement pour les besoins militaires et, peut-être, en partie, pour satisfaire la demande de milieux privés ayant quelque attache avec l’armée. Dans ces usines ne travaillèrent que des Juifs du ghetto. Leur nombre atteignit plusieurs dizaines de milliers. Chez Tebenz les effectifs, au début de 1943, dépassèrent quinze mille ouvriers. Leur salaire était infime. Chaque ouvrier avait droit à deux litres de soupe par jour au prix de 60 à 70 groschen ; sa condition était celle d’un esclave.

I will be so glad for you to hear not the sounds of gunfire but the sounds of church bells, and of people working in peace.

La semaine dernière, nous avons pris une décision. Nous allions sortir pour déblayer les briques. Des femmes de notre quartier y travaillaient quotidiennement. Les Trümmerfrauen. Elles nettoyaient les briques de toute trace de ciment. Elles empilaient dans des brouettes. Les emportaient dans un dépôt. On utiliserait les briques pour recronstruire Berlin. Une tâche utile, mais épuisante.

Léon prit conscience cet hiver-là que le droit s'était changé en injustice et que l'injustice était devenue la loi ; la racaille dominait et la loi était faite par des escrocs.

It is very similar to late Weimar Germany, The parallels are striking. There was also tremendous disillusionment with the parliamentary system. The most striking fact about Weimar was not that the Nazis managed to destroy the Social Democrats and the Communists but that the traditional parties, the Conservative and Liberal parties, were hated and disappeared. It left a vacuum which the Nazis very cleverly and intelligently managed to take over. [Chomsky in a 2010 interview with Chris Hedges on the crisis of democracy in the United States]

Lovely morning, World War Two.

May be you find out I could be useful getting people out of camps and prisons in Germany - just before they got shot. I should love to do it and I like to jump out of a plane even every day.

Like Antwone Fisher... ya gotta know where you come from... or you don't know shit. I didn't know shit after high school and college. Nothing. Nothing useful, at least. Then I read the Painted Bird... based on some real events as I understand it... and I understood... well at least I understood a little more. Like all the good little boys and girls, I used to hate Hitler, right? and then you get another side of the story and a little voice inside you says... shit... these people (my ancestors) are fucked up... maybe Hitler had a point...

Mechanically I carried on across the Irish Sea, noticing with a jaundiced eye that it had suddenly lost the sinister threat of no-man's-land and was transformed into a placid highway where ferry-steamers would soon chug peacefully over the unmarked graves of gallant seamen.

Meet me tonight, six o’clock sharp, at the gates of the municipal hospital. It is very important that you are precise. Not five minutes early, not five minutes late. In case I’m not there, you leave straight away. Got it?” Ingrid aka ‘Alis K’ The Informer

My book "Bamboo Walls" is forever because the Djojobojo Prophecy is timeless!

My name’s Alis K. From now on you will be Willy. Come on, let’s push the bicycles for a bit.” Ingrid aka ‘Alis K’ The Informer

Long ago she'd clamped an iron shell around her heart and nothing and no one could pry it lose, but deep inside the tender flesh still beat.

Media was a battle ground. So was the internet. People began walking openly with their weapons, whether it was a gun or a camera. Drones were always skimming overhead, filming the violence of the second civil war of the United States.

Nations that went down fighting rose again, but those who surrendered tamely were finished.

Musel jsem se dívat na průzory do plynových komor a sám sledovat proces smrti... Znovu a znovu se mě ptali, jak se já a moji lidé na tyto operace můžeme nepřetržitě dívat a jak jsme schopni to vydržet. Má stálá odpověď zněla, že je to otázka železného odhodlání, s jakým musíme plnit Hitlerovy rozkazy, a takové odhodlání že lze získat pouze potlačením všech lidských citů.

My pillowcases were totally full and the boots hanging around my neck added to the weight I was carrying, but I was determined to get my loot back to the house. Hiding what I couldn’t carry in a closet in the back of the office, I left with what I could carry, fully expecting to return for the rest later. The main roads were teeming with refugees and looters. Not wanting to be seen, I decided to use a little known path that ran around the back of the village. I reached a small stream and attempted to cross it by jumping from one stone to another. But with both hands full, I lost my balance and fell into the wet mud. Lying there totally exhausted and humiliated, I was close to tears. I simply couldn’t go on, when suddenly a hand took hold of my arm and pulled me up. I found myself looking into the stern face of a uniformed Home Guardsman. Holding me by my shoulders he instantly started to scold me for looting the foodstuff that was scattered in the mud. I knew that looters could be shot and my fear was that he would turn me over to the Moroccans for punishment. Luckily, he said that he didn’t want to single me out when everyone was doing the same thing. After telling him about my two small children, he told me to go home and look after them. I guess the Home Guard didn’t care who they answered to, Nazis or Moroccans, it was all the same to them! I guess that he was just doing his job.

Never had a decent report in his life!" Tony repeated, hardly able to believe the words. He was thinking, in shocked surprise, that even Tante Bettina did not know how mad the English could be.