No Soldier Outlives A Thousand Chances.

Everyone Saves Someone At Least Once. Just As He Kills Someone At Least Once. Even Though He May Not Know It.

The Music Enchanted The Air. It Was Like The South Wind, Like A Warm Night, Like Swelling Sails Beneath The Stars, Completely And Utterly Unreal... It Made Everything Spacious And Colourful, The Dark Stream Of Life Seemed Pulsing In It; There Were No Burdens Any More, No Limits; There Existed Only Glory And Melody And Love, So That One Simply Could Not Realize That, At The Same Time As This Music Was, Outside There Ruled Poverty And Torment And Despair.

But Probably That's The Way Of The World - When We Have Finally Learned Something We're Too Old To Apply It - And So It Goes, Wave After Wave, Generation After Generation. No One Learns Anything At All From Anyone Else.

Trenches, Hospitals, The Common Grave--there Are No Other Possibilities.

The Wisest Were Just The Poor And Simple People. They Knew The War To Be A Misfortune, Whereas Those Who Were Better Off, And Should Have Been Able To See More Clearly What The Consequences Would Be, Were Beside Themselves With Joy.