All Quiet On The Western Front.

All Quiet On The Western Front.

Mirrors Are There When We Are And Yet They Never Give Anything Back To Us But Our Own Image. Never, Never Shall We Know What They Are When They Are Alone Or What Is Behind Them.

Life Did Not Intend To Make Us Perfect. Whoever Is Perfect Belongs In A Museum.

The Storm Lashes Us, Out Of The Confusion Of Grey And Yellow The Hail Of Splinters Whips Forth The Childlike Cries Of The Wounded, And In The Night Shattered Life Groans Painfully Into Silence. Our Hands Are Earth, Our Bodies Clay And Our Eyes Pools Of Rain. We Do Not Know Whether We Are Still Alive.

Strange How Complicated We Can Make Things Just To Avoid Showing What We Feel!