... But That's What Mankind Is Like:

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.

They Are More To Me Than Life, These Voices, They Are More Than Motherliness And More Than Fear; They Are The Strongest, Most Comforting Thing There Is Anywhere: They Are The Voices Of My Comrades.

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.

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.

The Room Shall Speak, It Must Catch Me Up And Hold Me, I Want To Feel That I Belong Here, I Want To Hearken And Know When I Go Back To The Front Line That The War Will Sink Down, Be Drowned Utterly In The Great Home-coming Tide, Know That It Will Then Be Past For Ever, And Not Gnaw Us Continually, That It Will Have None But An Outward Power Over Us...nothing Stirs; Listless And Wretched, Like A Condemned Man, I Sit There And The Past Withdraws Itself. And At The Same Time I Fear To Importune It Too Much, Because I Do Not Know What Might Happen Then. I Am A Soldier, I Must Cling To That.