You just want cruelty to beget cruelty. You’re not superior to people who were cruel to you; you’re just a whole bunch of new cruel people. A whole bunch of new cruel people being cruel to other people who will end up being cruel to you. The only way anyone can live in peace is if they’re prepared to forgive. Why don’t you break the cycle? […] What is it that you actually want? War? And when this war is over, when you have a homeland free from humans, what do you think it’s going to be like? Do you know? Have you thought about it? Have you given it any consideration? Because you’re very close to getting what you want. What’s it going to be like? Paint me a picture. Are you going to live in houses? Do you want people to go to work? Will there be holidays? Will there be music? Do you think people will be allowed to play violins? Who’s going to make the violins? Well? Oh, you don’t actually know do you? Because, like every other tantrumming child in history, you don’t actually know what you want. So, let me ask you a question about this brave new world of yours. When you’ve killed all the bad guys, and when it’s all perfect and just and fair, when you have finally got it exactly the way you want it, what are you going to do with the people like you? The troublemakers. How are you going to protect your glorious revolution from the next one? Maybe you will win, but nobody wins for long. The wheel just keeps turning. So come on, break the cycle. [….] Because it’s always the same. When you fire that first shot, no matter how right you feel, you have no idea who’s going to die! You don’t know whose children are going to scream and burn! How many hearts will be broken! How many lives shattered! How much blood will spill until everybody does what they were always going to have to do from the very beginning – sit down and talk!
One of the best and most beautiful monologues from Doctor Who.
My father picked me up from school one day, and we played hooky and went to the beach.
It was too cold to go in the water, so we sat on a blanket and ate pizza.
When I got home, my sneakers were full of sand, and I dumped it on my bedroom floor.
I didn’t know the difference.
I was six.
My mother screamed at me for the mess, but he wasn’t mad.
He said that billions of years ago, the world shifting and the oceans moving brought that sand to that spot on the beach, and then I took it away.
“Every day,” he said, “we change the world,” which is a nice thought until I think about how many days and lifetimes I would need to bring a shoe full of sand home until there is no beach, until it made a difference to anyone.
Every day, we change the world, but to change the world in a way that means anything, that takes more time than most people have.
It never happens all at once.
We don’t all have the stomach for it.