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Quote by Franco T.D.W.

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Franco T.D.W.

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“We believe in the nobility of self-sacrifice demanded by war, especially when we are blinded by the narcotic of war. We discover in the communal struggle, the shared sense of meaning and purpose, a cause. War fills our spiritual void. I do not miss war, but I miss what it brought. I can never say that I was happy in the midst of the fighting in El Salvador, or in Bosnia, or Kosova, but I had a sense of purpose, of calling. And this is a quality war shares with love, for we are, in love, also able to choose fealty and self-sacrifice over security.”

“Happiness is elusive and protean. And it is sterile when devoid of meaning. But meaning, when it is set in the vast arena of war with its high stakes, it’s adrenaline-driven rushes, it’s bold sweeps and drama, is heartless and self-destructive. The initial selflessness of war mirrors that of love, the chief emotion war destroys. And this is what war often looks and feels like, at it’s inception: love.”

“It is arguable whether drone attacks, launched by drone pilots against people who have no idea what's coming, are even war at all but something more grotesque; dehumanisation of those targeted because there is no real, human contact between the attacker and victim. Israel and the US instead celebrate these killings by releasing drone footage to the media.”

“I had been a prisoner of war for about two and one-half years. At 20 years of age, it had been a lifetime of slavery -- an eternity of horror -- killings, beatings, sickness, starvation, and pain. I reached the point of expecting nothing . . . and thoughts of the war coming to an end were far from my imagination. I couldn't remember what it was like to be free. I had learned that true life is more than material possessions. Freedom and good health are the greatest gifts from God, and I would never take them for granted if I ever had the chance to enjoy them again.”

“Io ero arrivato a una difesa di reticolati in cui mi sembrò si potesse passare. Attraverso i fili, infatti, v'era un passaggio stretto. Io l'infilai. Ma, fatto qualche passo, trovai lo sbarramento d'un cavallo di frisia. Era impossibile continuare. Mi voltai e vidi soldati della 10a che mi seguivano. Rimasi lì, inchiodato. Dalle trincee, nessuno sparava. In un ampia feritoia, di fronte, scorsi la testa d'un soldato. Egli mi guardava. Io non ne vidi che gli occhi. Vidi solo gli occhi. E mi sembrò ch'egli non avesse che occhi, talmente mi parvero grandi. Lentamente, io feci dei passi indietro, senza voltarmi, sempre sotto lo sguardo di quei grandi occhi,”

“He seizes my hand, and crows to me of the day's events, of how his name was on everybody's lips, of the power of his absence, big as a Cyclops, walking heavily amongst the soldiers. The excitement of the day has flared through him, like flame in dry grass. For the first time, he dreams of killing: the stroke of glory, his inevitable spear through Hector's heart. My skin prickles to hear him say so. 'Do you see?' he says. 'It is the beginning!' I cannot escape the feeling that, below the surface, something is breaking.”