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“So new to him," she muttered, "so old to me; so strange to him, so familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us!...”
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

“As she realized what might have been, she grew to be thankful for what was.”
― Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South

“The sun kept on with its slipping away, and I thought how many small good things in the world might be resting on the shoulders of something terrible.”
― Carol Rifka Brunt, Tell the Wolves I'm Home

“Well, I know," she said. "You'll pretend you were men instead of babies, and you'll be played in the movies by Frank Sinatra and John Wayne or some of those other glamorous, war-loving, dirty old men. And war will look just wonderful, so we'll have a lot more of them. And they'll be fought by babies like the babies upstairs."
So then I understood. It was war that made her so angry. She didn't want her babies or anybody else's babies killed in wars. And she thought wars were partly encouraged by books and movies.

So I held up my right hand and I made her a promise: "Mary," I said, "I don't think this book of mine will ever be finished. I must have written five thousand pages by now, and thrown them all away. If I ever do finish it, though, I give you my word of honor: there won't be a part for Frank Sinatra or John Wayne.
"I tell you what," I said, "I'll call it 'The Children's Crusade.'"
She was my friend after that.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five