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Quote by Max Hastings

Work

Vietnam: An Epic Tragedy, 1945-1975

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Author

Max Hastings
Max Hastings

Max Hastings is a British journalist born on December 28, 1945. He is known for his in-depth reporting on historical and contemporary events, having served as the Defence and Diplomatic Editor of The Daily Telegraph and contributing as a columnist for several media outlets. more

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“Planet of Apes (Real Peace Sonnet) Stronger the military, stupider the citizens. Louder the ammunition, lousier the education. Mightier the missiles, measlier the minds. Sharper the snipers, sicklier the spines. Fuller the magazines, feebler the veins. Bolder the bombs, wobblier the brains. More titanic the tanks, more pathetic the primates. World in trance of arms, is a planet of the apes.”

WarMilitaryAnti WarNonviolenceWorld PeacePeace On EarthPeace ActivistDisarmamentWar And PeaceDemilitarization
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“Yes, of course," she said, the words rushing out. "You're defending your country." She opened her mouth again, then bit her lip. "Go on," he said. "Ask what you wanted to ask. I don't bite." "Well, I suppose I just wondered whether you had... whether you had actually ever killed anyone." He laughed. "You know, you do seem much younger than sixteen," he said. "But in answer to your question- yes, I have. More than one." He stopped. There was a new, dark look in his eyes when he continued. "You can't imagine what it's like. The Libyan heat sticking to you, day in, day out. Nothing but sand and rock for miles. Not a bit of green. All day, crawling in the dust, shooting and being shot at. Men dying around you. You realize, when you see a person die, that there's nothing special about humans. We're just flesh and blood and organs, no different to the pig that have us this bacon. "So, all day, dust, death, everywhere. I went to sleep each night with dust in my mouth and the smell of blood in my nose. Even here- I'm still finding dust on me. Under my nails, in my hair, caked into the soles of my shoes. And I can still smell the blood. All so that some English girl, sitting pretty in her father's manor house, can ask me if I ever killed anyone.”

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Book:Weyward
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“Stop making dubious literature about the Berbers and the old Iberians and admit that you have liked to kill as all who are soldiers by choice have enjoyed it at some time whether they lie about it or not. Anselmo does not like to because he is a hunter, not a soldier. Don't idealize him either. Hunters kill animals and soldiers kill men. Don't lie to yourself, he thought. Nor make up literature about it. You have been tainted with it for a long time now.”

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Book:For Whom the Bell Tolls
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