Every Little Bean Must Be Heard As

In Any Case, The Bayonet Isn't As Important As It Used To Be. It's More Usual Now To Go Into The Attack With Hand-grenades And Your Entrenching Tool. The Sharpened Spade Is A Lighter And More Versatile Weapon - Not Only Can You Get A Man Under The Chin, But More To The Point, You Can Strike A Blow With A Lot More Force Behind It. That's Especially True If You Can Bring It Down Diagonally Between The Neck And The Shoulder, Because Then You Can Split Down As Far As The Chest. When You Put A Bayonet In, It Can Stick, And You Have To Give The Other Man A Hefty Kick In The Guts To Get It Out.

Monotonously The Lorries Sway, Monotonously Come The Calls, Monotonously Falls The Rain. It Falls On Our Heads And On The Heads Of The Dead Up The Line, On The Body Of The Little Recruit With The Wound That Is So Much Too Big For His Hip; It Falls On Kemmerich's Grave; It Falls In Our Hearts.

-why Does A Man Live? -in Order To Think About It.

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.

I Want That Quiet Rapture Again. I Want To Feel The Same Powerful, Nameless Urge That I Used To Feel When I Turned To My Books. The Breath Of Desire That Then Arose From The Coloured Backs Of The Books, Shall Fill Me Again, Melt The Heavy, Dead Lump Of Lead That Lies Somewhere In Me And Waken Again The Impatience Of The Future, The Quick Joy In The World Of Thought, It Shall Bring Back Again The Lost Eagerness Of My Youth. I Sit And Wait.