War's (n.) absence is only a fraction of the true meaning of peace.
War (n.) with catastrophe, evil and pain is necessary for culture; without them men would sink back into the brute state of mere animal satisfaction.
War (n.) has something sublime in it for the spectator, while a long peace breeds a commercial spirit, low selfishness, cowardice and effeminacy.
War (n.) is two drunkards bludgeoning each other in a china shop — and the onlooker who admires their courage forgets the china shop, the world.
War (n.) prepares cosmopolitan peace by its very meaninglessness: sheer exhaustion will impose what neither reason nor good will could achieve.
War (n.) is not so incurably bad as the deadness of a universal monarchy.
War (n.) brings progress — as anyone knows who sees how closely the history of technology tracks the history of wars — and even progress toward peace: the more awful it gets, the likelier men grow reasonable.
War (n.) must never permit acts of hostility that would make mutual confidence in the subsequent peace impossible.