Rebecca Solnit Quotes

God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.

It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace.

War is like love; it always finds a way.

Being over seventy is like being engaged in a war. All our friends are going or gone and we survive amongst the dead and the dying as on a battlefield.

In war, whichever side may call itself the victor, there are no winners, but all are losers.

My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

World history is tragic.

History could pass for a scarlet text, its jot and title graven red in human blood.

Do not say that someone has won and someone has lost. These are unappropriate, blasphemous words. We have all been scorched by the deadly breath of fratricide.

Death is always and under all circumstances a tragedy, for if it is not, then it means that life itself has become one.

Bloody Ground

It’s very hard really to look a soldier in the eye when you fear that you are sending him to his death.

As a combat medic, I heard a lot of last words; I saw a lot of last breaths taken.

'The Passing Bells' highlights the horror of the fighting from both sides and draws parallels between these two young boys' lives.

Oh, time betrays us. Time is the great enemy.

Is this dying? Is this all? Is this what I feared when I prayed against a hard death? Oh, I can bear this! I can bear this!

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die. The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom -A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.

Time, Ms. McHenry," Townsend said. "It can be a cruel, cruel thing

The gods have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take away. You have only a few years in which to live really, perfectly, and fully. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes bring you nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses.

Life is hard, but death is even harder.

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too, The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,All things are changed, save in the east,The faithful beauty of the stars.

All the tragedies which we can imagine return in the end to the one and only tragedy: the passage of time.

You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!

Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek And sought the mourner's side again. "Once more, dear lady, I must speak: Your last remaining son was slain Just at the closing of the fight; Twas he who sent me here to-night." "God knows," the man said afterward, "The fight itself was not so hard."