I want to think and at the same time that's the last thing in the world I want to do.
You may turn into an archangel, a fool, or a criminal—no one will see it. But when a button is missing—everyone sees that.
What comfort there is in the skin of someone you love!
A hospital alone shows what war is.
I wandered through the streets thinking of all the things I might have said and might have done had I been other than I was.
Courage is the fairest adornment of youth.
Every little bean must be heard as well as seen!
No soldier outlives a thousand chances. But every soldier believes in Chance and trusts his luck.
Our knowledge of life is limited to death
Nothing is the mirror in which you see the world.
I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another.
We are not youth any longer. We don’t want to take the world by storm. We are fleeing. We fly from ourselves. From our life. We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and we had to shoot it to pieces.
We want to live at any price; so we cannot burden ourselves with feelings which, though they might be ornamental enough in peace-time, would be out of place here.
This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war.
The things men did or felt they had to do.
But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony - forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?
Am I jealous? he thought, astonished. Jealous of the chance object to which she has attached herself? Jealous of something that does not concern me? One can be jealous of a love that has turned away, but not of that to which it has turned.
... but that's what mankind is like: they only prize what they no longer possess.
Heaven Has No Favorites
It was a melancholy secret that reality can arouse desires but never satisfy them.
I am often on guard over the Russians. In the darkness one sees their forms move like stick storks, like great birds. They come close up to the wire fence and lean their faces against it. Their fingers hook round the mesh.
Sweet dreams though the guns are booming.
We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out…we creep in upon ourselves and with big eyes stare into the night…and thus we wait for morning.
-Why does a man live? -In order to think about it.
Give 'em all the same grub and all the same pay/And the war would be over and done in a day." - All Quiet On The Western Front, Ch. 3
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