What Comfort There Is In The Skin

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.

The Wisest Were Just The Poor And Simple People. They Knew The War To Be A Misfortune, Whereas Those Who Were Better Off, And Should Have Been Able To See More Clearly What The Consequences Would Be, Were Beside Themselves With Joy.

Everyone Saves Someone At Least Once. Just As He Kills Someone At Least Once. Even Though He May Not Know It.

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.

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