My dear Excellency! I have not gone to war to collect cheese and eggs, but for another purpose.

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.

One can become enthusiastic over anything. For a time I was delighted with bomb throwing. It gave me a tremendous pleasure to bomb those fellows from above.

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

Of course, with the increasing number of aeroplanes one gains increased opportunities for shooting down one's enemies, but at the same time, the possibility of being shot down one's self increases.

Fight on and fly on to the last drop of blood and the last drop of fuel, to the last beat of the heart.

Fighter pilots rove in the area allotted to them in any way they like, and when they spot an enemy they attack and shoot them down.... Everything else is rubbish.