Έριχ Μαρία Ρεμάρκ – Ουδέν Νεώτερον Από το Δυτικό Μέτωπο
“Comrade, I did not want to kill you. . . . But
you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lived in my mind and
called forth its appropriate response. . . . I thought of your hand-grenades,
of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our
fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never
tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious
as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the
same agony—Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?”
Έρνεστ Χέμινγουει – Για Ποιόν Χτυπάει η Καμπάνα
“There are many who do not know they are fascists but will find it out
when the time comes.”
Χ. Τζ. Γουέλς – Τί Μέλλει Γενέσθαι;
"I hate and despise a shrewish suspicion
of foreigners and foreign ways; a man who can look me in the face, laugh with
me, speak truth and deal fairly, is my brother, though his skin is as black as
ink or as yellow as an evening primrose"
Τζέημς Τζόυς – Οδυσσέας
“I resent violence or intolerance in any shape
or form. It never reaches anything or stops anything. It's a patent absurdity
on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak a
different vernacular, so to speak.”
Μπέρτολτ Μπρεχτ – Για τη Βία
The headlong stream is termed violent
But the riverbed hemming it in
Is τermed violent by no one.
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