Everyone saves someone at least once. Just as he kills someone at least once. Even though he may not know it.

Trenches, hospitals, the common grave--there are no other possibilities.

I want to think and at the same time that's the last thing in the world I want to do.

Nothing is the mirror in which you see the world.

Sometimes I used to think that one day i should wake up, and all that had been would be over. forgotten, sunk, drowned. Nothing was sure - not even memory.

He fell in October 1918, on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front. He had fallen forward and lay on the earth as though sleeping. Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.

-Why does a man live? -In order to think about it.