Your great Generals could be glib about it.

They could spout volumes of words, but there's no substance about them.

I say that in this generation there's no call for fighting, and there didn't ought to be any." "You are not only right, but you are splendidly right, Mr.Cross," Julian declared.

"It's human talk, that." "It's just a plain man's words and thoughts," was the simple reply.
"And yet," Fenn complained, in his thin voice, "if I talk like that, they call me a pacifist, a lot of rowdies get up and sing `Rule Britannia', and try to chivy me out of the hall where I'm speaking." "You see, there's a difference, lad," Cross pointed out, setting down the tankard of beer from which he had been drinking.

"You talk sometimes that white-livered stuff about not hitting a man back if he wants to hit you, and you drag in your conscience, and prate about all men being brothers, and that sort of twaddle.