Someone Said To Me Once That A

Come Let Me Kiss You. Life Was Never So Precious As Today— When It Meant So Little.

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.

We Have Lost All Sense Of Other Considerations, Because They Are Artificial. Only The Facts Are Real And Important To Us. And Good Boots Are Hard To Come By." - All Quiet On The Western Front, Ch. 2

We're No Longer Young Men. We've Lost Any Desire To Conquer The World. We Are Refugees. We Are Fleeing From Ourselves. From Our Lives. We Were Eighteen Years Old, And We Had Just Begun To Love The World And To Love Being In It; But We Had To Shoot At It. The First Shell To Land Went Straight For Our Hearts. We've Been Cut Off From Real Action, From Getting On, From Progress. We Don't Believe In Those Things Any More; We Believe In The War.