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

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.

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

The quality of the box matters little. Success depends upon the man who sits in it.

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

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.

Whatever Boelcke told us was taken as Gospel!