We Are Not Youth Any Longer. We

I Want To Think And At The Same Time That's The Last Thing In The World I Want To Do.

Our Thoughts Are Clay, They Are Moulded With The Changes Of The Days;--when We Are Resting They Are Good; Under Fire, They Are Dead. Fields Of Craters Within And Without.

Do I Walk? Have I Feet Still? I Raise My Eyes, I Let Them Move Round, And Turn Myself With Them, One Circle, One Circle, And I Stand In The Midst. All Is As Usual. Only The Militiaman Stanislaus Katczinsky Has Died. Then I Know Nothing More.

Keep Things At Arm's Length... If You Let Anything Come Too Near You Want To Hold On To It. And There Is Nothing A Man Can Hold On To.

The Idea Of Authority, Which They Represented, Was Associated In Our Minds With A Greater Insight And A More Humane Wisdom.