I have had an experience which might perhaps be described as being shot down. At the same time, I call shot down only when one falls down. Today I got into trouble but I escaped with a whole skin.

In the heat of the Russian summer a sleeping car is the most horrible instrument of martyrdom imaginable.

The duty of the fighter pilot is to patrol his area of the sky, and shoot down any enemy fighters in that area. Anything else is rubbish.

When one has shot down one's first, second or third opponent, then one begins to find out how the trick is done.

It is a pity that my collection of trophies contains not a single Russian.

Everything in the air that is beneath me, especially if it is a one seater . . . is lost, for it cannot shoot to the rear.

I started shooting when I was much too far away. That was merely a trick of mine. I did not mean so much as to hit him as to frighten him, and I succeeded in catching him. He began flying curves and this enabled me to draw near.