Garry Winogrand Quotes

A sword by itself does not slay; it is merely the weapon used by the slayer.

Suddenly, at about ten o'clock, a dull thud sounded somewhere far away from us, and simultaneously we saw a small white round cloud about half a mile ahead of us where the shrapnel had exploded. The battle had begun.

In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield.

... merely another weapon.

One must always shoot; always shoot, general.

The day of battle dawned pink as the fresh-bitten thigh of a maiden.

Mistakes can occur during hostilities.

Well, you know what they say. A bullet always tells the truth.

Never ever say the word shoot when you are taking a picture with a camera because a camera is not a violent weapon.

Yelling a battle cry—more to motivate himself than frighten his foes—Lukel grabbed the table leg and swung it at a soldier. The wood bounced off the man's helmet, but the blow was powerful enough to daze him, so Lukel followed it with a solid blow to the face. The soldier dropped and Lukel grabbed his weapon. Now he had a sword. He only wished he knew how to use it.

War is a generality, so are the inevitabilities of war, including death.

Arms are my ornaments, warfare my repose.

You are a fool to speak of last great battles...for the last great battle is always the next one.

In firing his gun, John Brown has merely told what time of day it is. It is high noon.

Arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag'd: dire was the noise Of conflict.

Two armies at death-grips — that is one great army committing suicide.

He felt around desperately for a weapon. What did he have? Diapers? Cookies? Oh, why hadn't they given him a sword? He was the stupid warrior, wasn't he? His fingers dug in the leather bag and closed around the root beer can. Root beer! He yanked out the can shaking it with all his might. "Attack! Attack!" he yelled.

And down the dunes a thousand guns lie crouched,Unseen, beside the flood -Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouchedThat wait and watch for blood.Meanwhile, through streets still echoing with trade,Walk grave and thoughtful men,Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's bladeAs lightly as the pen.

It needs but one foe to breed a war, and those who have not swords can still die upon them.

There is one hell of a difference between fighting in the ring and going to war in Vietnam.

For the first time I heard shots fired in anger, heard bullets strike flesh or whistle through the air.

No country is so wild and difficult but men will make it a theater of war.

Melt all the guns, I thought, break the knives, burn the guillotines-and the malicious will still write letters that kill.

The conversation of bullets.