war (n.)
- altercation
- argument
- arms
- attack
- attempt
- battle
- belligerence
- belligerency
- bickering
- bloodshed
- box
- brawl
- broil
- campaign
- challenge
- chivalry
- clash
- close
- combat
- conflict
- contention
- contentiousness
- contest
- contestation
- controversy
- crusade
- debate
- disputation
- dispute
- drive
- duel
- endeavor
- engage
- enmity
- essay
- expedition
- fence
- feud
- fight
- fighting
- generalship
- grapple
- hostilities
- hostility
- jihad
- jostle
- joust
- knighthood
- litigation
- logomachy
- polemic
- quarrel
- quarrelsomeness
- riot
- scramble
- scuffle
- skirmish
- spar
- strife
- struggle
- tilt
- tourney
- tug
- tussle
- warfare
- wartime
- words
- wrangling
- wrestle
war (v.)
- arms
- attack
- attempt
- battle
- box
- brawl
- broil
- campaign
- challenge
- clash
- close
- collide
- combat
- conflict
- contend
- contest
- crusade
- debate
- dispute
- drive
- duel
- endeavor
- engage
- essay
- fence
- feud
- fight
- grapple
- jostle
- joust
- oppugn
- quarrel
- riot
- scramble
- scuffle
- skirmish
- spar
- strive
- struggle
- tilt
- tourney
- tug
- tussle
- words
- wrestle
war (adj.)
After death the doctor.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
The brazen throat of war.
Hobbes clearly proves that every creature
Lives in a state of war by nature.
What mighty ills have not been done by woman!
Who was 't betrayed the Capitol?—A woman!
Who lost Mark Antony the world?—A woman!
Who was the cause of a long ten years' war,
And laid at last old Troy in ashes?—Woman!
Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!
We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage.
O, now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!
Corn is the sinews of war.
All delays are dangerous in war.
War, war is still the cry,—"war even to the knife!"
Ez fer war, I call it murder,—
There you hev it plain an' flat;
I don't want to go no furder
Than my Testyment fer that.
. . . . .
An' you 've gut to git up airly
Ef you want to take in God.
To the memory of the Man, first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.
Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are!
From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins,
That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war,
Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice-driven bed of down.
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fallen.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,—
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,—
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble;
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying.
If all the world be worth the winning,
Think, oh think it worth enjoying:
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee.
He who did well in war just earns the right
To begin doing well in peace.
We should provide in peace what we need in war.
The commonwealth of Venice in their armoury have this inscription: "Happy is that city which in time of peace thinks of war."
But war's a game which were their subjects wise
Kings would not play at.
War, war is still the cry,—"war even to the knife!"
War its thousands slays, Peace its ten thousands.
Lysander said that the law spoke too softly to be heard in such a noise of war.
Cry "Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war.
It is magnificent, but it is not war.
There's but the twinkling of a star
Between a man of peace and war.
My sentence is for open war.
My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?
They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.
There never was a good war or a bad peace.
There is no discharge in that war.
Lamachus chid a captain for a fault; and when he had said he would do so no more, "Sir," said he, "in war there is no room for a second miscarriage." Said one to Iphicrates, "What are ye afraid of?" "Of all speeches," said he, "none is so dishonourable for a general as 'I should not have thought of it.'"
I war not with the dead.
I'm weary of conjectures,—this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me:
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
No war or battle's sound
Was heard the world around.
Peace hath her victories
No less renown'd than war.
Incens'd with indignation Satan stood
Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge
In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair
Shakes pestilence and war.
War loves to seek its victims in the young.
Sinews of war.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine,
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine.
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,
In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol.
Hail, Columbia! happy land!
Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone,
Enjoyed the peace your valor won.
Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies!
He is come to open
The purple testament of bleeding war.
"War," says Machiavel, "ought to be the only study of a prince;" and by a prince he means every sort of state, however constituted. "He ought," says this great political doctor, "to consider peace only as a breathing-time, which gives him leisure to contrive, and furnishes ability to execute military plans." A meditation on the conduct of political societies made old Hobbes imagine that war was the state of nature.
"War," says Machiavel, "ought to be the only study of a prince;" and by a prince he means every sort of state, however constituted. "He ought," says this great political doctor, "to consider peace only as a breathing-time, which gives him leisure to contrive, and furnishes ability to execute military plans." A meditation on the conduct of political societies made old Hobbes imagine that war was the state of nature.
It would be superfluous in me to point out to your Lordship that this is war.
To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace.
When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war.
It hath been said that an unjust peace is to be preferred before a
just war.—
Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more.
Ancestral voices prophesying war.
The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart.
And raw in fields the rude militia swarms,
Mouths without hands; maintain'd at vast expense,
In peace a charge, in war a weak defence;
Stout once a month they march, a blustering band,
And ever but in times of need at hand.
That it shall hold companionship in peace
With honour, as in war.
