Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop.
Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
All's fair in love and war.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
All is fair in love and war and Parliamentary procedure.
When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.
What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world.
The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.
But what a cruel thing is war to separate and destroy families and friends.
We will not build a peaceful world by following a negative path. It is not enough to say we will not wage war. It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it. We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war, but on the positive affirmation of peace
Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Unconditional love will have the final word in reality.
It is not enough to say we must not wage war. It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it.
Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.
Love is like war; easy to begin, hard to end.
No! Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try.
War loves to seek its victims in the young.
Our schoolbooks glorify war and conceal its horrors. They indoctrinate children with hatred. I would teach peace rather than war, love rather than hate.
One of the greatest of poets, Coleridge was one of the wisest of men, and it was not for nothing that he read us this parable. Let us have a little less of "hands across the sea," and a little more of that elemental distrust that is the security of nations. War loves to come like a thief in the night; professions of eternal amity provide the night.
Although we are necessarily concerned, in a chronicle of events, with physical action by the light of day, history suggests that the human spirit wanders farthest in the silent hours between midnight and dawn. Those dark fruitful hours, seldom recorded, whose secret flowerings breed peace and war, loves and hates, the crowning or uncrowning of heads.
Vonnegut's war was necessary. And yet it was massacre and screaming and confusion and blood and death. It was the mammoth projection outward of the confused inner life of men. In war, the sad tidy constructs we make to help us believe life is orderly and controllable are roughly thrown aside like the delusions they are. In war, love is outed as an insane, insupportable emotion, a kind of luxury emotion, because everywhere you look, someone beloved to someone is being slaughtered, by someone whose own beloved has been slaughtered, or will be, or could be.
I would teach peace rather than war, love rather than hate.
He who gives back at the first repulse and without striking the second blow, despairs of success has never been, is not, and never will be a hero in war, love, or business.
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