All Quiet On The Western Front.

My Rage Outweighs My Shame, As Always Happens When One Is Really Ashamed And Knows He Ought To Be.

To Forget Is The Secret Of Eternal Youth. One Grows Old Only Through Memory. There's Much Too Little Forgetting.

With Blinded Eyes I Stared At The Sky, This Grey, Endless Sky Of A Crazy God, Who Had Made Life And Death For His Amusement.

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.

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.