On all the peaks lies peace.

Peace. The upland serenity of high altitude, the openness of grassland without indigenous bush or trees; the greening, yellowing or silver-browning that prevailed, according to season.

War makes rattling good history; but Peace is poor reading.

Mankind has grown strong in eternal struggles and it will only perish through eternal peace.

The passions that incline men to peace are fear of death, desire of such things as are necessary to commodious living, and a hope by their industry to obtain them.

The only condition of peace in this world is to have no ideas, or, at least, not to express them.

Mutual cowardice keeps us in peace.

Now we suffer the woes of long peace. Luxury, more savage Than war, has smothered us, avenging the world we ravage.

Peace is a daily, a weekly, a monthly process, gradually changing opinions, slowly eroding old barriers, quietly building new structures.

The mere absence of war is not peace.