Sarah Vowell Quotes

History has shown that at least one-half of every century is consumed in war.

The history of our civilization has been one of intermittent war.

For what can war, but endless war, still breed?

Except for the people who were there that one day they discovered the polio vaccine, being part of history is rarely a good idea. History is one war after another with a bunch of murders and natural disasters in between.

War is hell. You can't photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear.

Unless a nation's life faces peril, war is murder.

The history of mankind is a history of war.

You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.

War is hell. Hollywood fantasizes about it and makes it look good... war sucks.

We are muddled into war.

There is nothing glamorous or romantic about war. It's mostly about random pointless death and misery.

It's a major part of world history that men are trying to kill each other. It's just one slaughter after the other. We talk about it, but no one's really listening.

The situation is extraordinary. It is militarism run stark mad. Unless someone acting for you can bring about a different understanding there is some day to be an awful cataclysm.

The march of history is accompanied by a steady flow of bodies into the abattoir of hate.

Then comes the catastrophe. Then the great mobilization will take place in Europe; 16-18 million men, the flower of the various nations, armed with the best tools of death, will enter the field as enemies. But, I am convinced, that behind the great mobilization there stands the great havoc. It will not come through our party, but rather yours. You are driving things to the limit. You are leading us to catastrophe. You will reap what you have sown

Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war.

They are spinning and people are dying.

A war with Pakistan would be an utter disaster.

Their peace and their war Are like wind and storm. War grows from their peace.

There comes a terrible moment to many souls when the great movements of the world, the larger destinies of mankind, which have lain aloof in newspapers and other neglected reading, enter like an earthquake into their own lives--when the slow urgency of growing generations turns into the tread of an invading army or the dire clash of civil war, and grey fathers know nothing to seek for but the corpses of their blooming sons, and girls forget all vanity to make lint and bandages which may serve for the shattered limbs of their betrothed husbands.

What’s so civil about war anyway?

We must conquer war or war will conquer us.

Every war, every revolution, demands the sacrifice of a generation, of a collectivity, by those who undertake it.

Love's Pestilence, and her slow dogs of war.