I encountered among my comrades the most varied human traits, from frankness to reserve, from goodness, uprightness and kindness, to brutality and baseness.

Poor is the power of the lead that becomes bullets compared to the power of the hot metal that becomes types.

When I was a little boy I did not, of course, trouble much about my appearance.

The war imbued my tin soldiers with quite a new interest. It was impossible to have boxes enough of them.

I was not afraid of what I did not like. To overcome dislike of a thing often satisfied one's feeling of honour.

Birth was something that came quite unexpectedly, and afterwards there was one child more in the house.

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