No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of

Abraham Lincoln, a man of sorrows and of wisdom, once spoke with gentle humor and hidden truth: “No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.” At first, it seems a playful jest, an observation of nature’s persistence. Yet within it lies the vision of a statesman who had seen conflict, division, and strife. Lincoln, who carried the burdens of a nation tearing itself apart, understood that life has a strange resilience, that even in the midst of quarrel and discord, creation does not cease. The cat, fierce in its battles, still brings forth new life; so too, humanity, though it quarrels endlessly, continues to multiply, to endure, to begin again.

The origin of this saying is found in Lincoln’s habit of speaking truth through stories and humor. He was a man who knew that hard truths are best borne when wrapped in simplicity. By likening the endless quarrels of men to the fights of cats, he softened the sting of observation while pointing toward a profound lesson: conflict may be inevitable, but so is renewal. The presence of kittens after strife reminds us that hope often survives where we least expect it.

On the stage of history, we see this truth unfold again and again. Consider the aftermath of the American Civil War itself. Brothers fought against brothers, and the land was torn in two. Yet when the smoke cleared, the nation did not vanish. Out of the bloodshed came new generations, new dreams, new possibilities. Like the kittens after the cats’ fight, life sprang forth, reminding the living that even the fiercest struggle cannot smother the will to continue.

So too in the ruins of Europe after the Second World War. Cities had been reduced to rubble, families broken, nations scarred. Yet in those very years of devastation, children were born—millions of them. Their laughter rang out in places once filled with bombs, their small hands rebuilt what armies had destroyed. The kittens of humanity rose from the quarrels of nations, living proof that even when men sow destruction, life itself sows renewal.

But Lincoln’s words carry not only comfort, but also warning. If men are like cats, fighting endlessly, then the persistence of life does not excuse the bitterness of strife. The kittens may come, but must they inherit a world of quarrels and ruin? To recognize the resilience of life should not be an excuse for carelessness, but a call to responsibility. If new generations are certain, let us shape the world they inherit with greater wisdom, so that their lives are not born into endless contention.

The lesson for us, then, is twofold. First, do not despair when conflict rages, for life will not be extinguished so easily. Just as kittens appear after the clash of cats, hope arises even from turmoil. Second, take care to remember that those kittens—the next generation—will live with the consequences of our quarrels. Therefore, we must strive not only to endure strife, but to heal it, to plant peace instead of discord, to leave behind a world where the young may flourish without fighting the old battles of their parents.

Practically, this means tempering our disputes with wisdom. Quarrels, whether in families, communities, or nations, will come. But let them not be carried on with such bitterness that the next generation inherits only scars. When you find yourself in strife, remember the kittens: remember the ones who will come after, innocent and unknowing, yet shaped by the legacy you leave. Strive for reconciliation, seek peace, and live in such a way that life not only survives, but thrives.

So let Lincoln’s words linger in the heart: “No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.” They remind us that life is stronger than conflict, that hope is born even from quarrels. But they also call us to rise above mere survival, to create a world where the kittens—our children, our future—inherit not strife, but harmony. For to endure is good, but to endure with peace is divine.