War (n.) becomes psychologically possible whenever we judge the people on the other side by our own affects.
War (n.) is the moment civilized man learns he is still a barbarian — and the scourge waiting for him if he again makes his neighbour responsible for his own evil.
War (n.) psychology sorts projections by distance: everything my country does is good, everything the others do is bad, and the centre of all iniquity always lies a few miles behind the enemy lines.
War (n.) is preferable to psychology for most of us, since somebody else is always to blame — and nobody sees that all the world is driven to do just what it flees from in terror.
War (n.) is the primitive's distrust of the neighbouring tribe come back, swollen to gigantic proportions: our own faults appear in the enemy, fantastically magnified.
War (n.) machinery (n.) is invented by completely innocuous gentlemen, and when it blows up nobody seems to be responsible — it simply happens, yet it is all man-made.
War (n.) raged for four years of colossal horror that nobody wanted, and nobody asked what drove it: European man was possessed by something that stole his free will.
War (n.) is psychotherapy in the grand manner: its outbreak cured many a compulsion neurosis.
War (n.) and revolution are nothing other than psychic epidemics: at any moment millions may be smitten with a new madness — modern man is battered not by wild beasts and floods but by the elemental forces of his own psyche.
War (n.) is welcomed by people sick of banal life: "Thank heaven, now something is going to happen — something bigger than ourselves!"