Diana Wynne Jones Quotes

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

The crowd, still shouting, gives way before us. We plough our way through. Women hold their aprons over their faces and go stumbling away. A roar of fury goes up. A wounded man is being carried off.

It is unfair to blame man too fiercely for being pugnacious; he learned the habit from Nature.

Once blood is shed in a national quarrel, reason and right are swept aside by the rage of angry men.

Some of them … are tripping one another up, while others are twisting each other and groveling together in the mud, wallowing like swine … Others standing upright, … are attacking each other with blows and kicks … one looks as if he were going to spew out his teeth, unlucky man, his mouth full of blood and sand …. Nobody can easily convince me that men who do these things are not out of their minds.

Nations at war are wild beasts.

I just sort of feel like John Hughes movies are perfect, but they're missing violence. If they just had some violence, they'd be perfect.

I really like violence in writing and films.

Down at Bournemouth, I kicked a tray of cups up into air, and one hit Luther Blissett on the head. He flicked it on, and it went all over my suit hanging behind. Another time, at West Ham, I also threw a plate of sandwiches at Don Hutchison. He's sitting there, still arguing with me, with cheese and tomato running down his face.

With the Germs, every night's a little mini-riot, bottles flying at my head.

I don't remember what they said, only the fury of their words, how the air turned raw and full of welts. Later it would remind me of birds trapped inside a closed room, flinging themselves against the windows and the walls, against each other.

Over time even two armed blind men in a room can do enormous damage to each other, not to speak of the room.

Ranger sent us to check on you," Hal said. "We just got here, and we heard shots." "Some moron ate my jelly doughnut," Lula said. "So I shot him.

Sure, it was nice now, but eventually there would be running and screaming and blood on the floor.

Have you ever asked yourself, do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?

Wars, invented and organized by the highest available consciousnesses (do the worms go to war? do the fish? do the paramecia?), are the planet's chief source and cause of torment.

Of course when you were running with the bottom dogs, what you mostly saw were paws, claws, and assholes.

Fighting should be left to dogs and cats and chickens, who can't reason.

Hooray!" said the Chief of the Army. "Let's blow everyone up! Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

There is nothing quite so terrifying as a mad sheep.

Where nature with accustomed round Sweeps and garnishes the ground With kindly beauty, warm or cold Alternate seasons never old: Heathen, how furiously you rage, Cursing this blood and brimstone age, How furiously against your will You kill and kill again, and kill: All thought of peace behind you cast, Till like small boys with fear aghast, Each cries for God to understand, 'I could not help it, it was my hand.

This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.

The sh*t's gonna splatter, start buggin, yo..." Mencheres to Cat

I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skills is their capacity to escalate.