I came into the world two months too soon, I was in such a hurry.

But I did not find any positive inspiration in my studies until I approached my nineteenth year.

My father, though, could run very much faster. It was impossible to compete with him on the grass. But it was astonishing how slow old people were. Some of them could not run up a hill and called it trying to climb stairs.

That a literature in our time is living is shown in that way that it debates problems.

I admired in others the strength that I lacked myself.

It was jolly in the country. A cow and little pigs to play with and milk warm from the cow.

The appalling thing about war is that it kills all love of truth.