At school nobody ever taught us how to light a cigarette in a storm of rain, nor how a fire could be made with wet wood-nor that it is best to stick a bayonet in the belly because there it doesn't get jammed, as it does in the ribs.

We have our dreams because without them we could not bear the truth.

My rage outweighs my shame, as always happens when one is really ashamed and knows he ought to be.

The miracle has passed me by; it has touched but not changed me; I still have the same name and I know I will probably bear it until the end of my days; I am no phoenix; resurrection is not for me; I have tried to fly but I am tumbling like a dazzled, awkward rooster back to earth, back behind the barbed wires.

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.

Someone said to me once that a cigarette at the right moment is better than all the ideals in the world.

Modesty and conscientiousness receive their reward only in novels. In life they are exploited and then shoved aside.