"There is nothing I can say about myself as a whole simply and completely, without intermingling and admixture. The most universal article of my own Logic is Distinguo. I always mean to speak well of what is good..."
-Michel de Montaigne, "Of the inconstancy of our actions", tr. M.A. Screech
So that when our children, and our children’s children, and their children besides, ask, “Who destroyed the treasures of the Fertile Crescent? Who let the golden harp of Sumer slip through his fingers? The cuneiform tablets and the copper shoes? Who pledged to do his best not to war on the earliest history of humanity, and failed to keep his pledge? Who destroyed the history and the heritage of the people he tried to save, thus fueling the very hate from which he hoped to save them?” we can smile sorrowfully at them and say, “Donald Rumsfeld,” and then, demurely, spit, to rinse the foul taste of his name from our mouths.
From Milton's "Areopagitica":
...we see a kind of homicide may be thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom; and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at that ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself; slays an immortality rather than a life.
Marduk to Tiamat, from the Enuma Elish, c. 1200 BC:
Mother of all, why did you have to mother war?
From the Lament for Uruk:
Oh, Sumer! Alas -- your spirit! Alas -- your structure! Alas -- your people! The word of An, having been assigned its place, has destroyed the sacred precinct.