The Coffin, It Shall Protect Me, Though

Yes, That's The Way They Think, These Hundred Thousand Kantoreks! Iron Youth! Youth! We Are None Of Us More Than Twenty Years Old. But Young? That Is Long Ago. We Are Old Folk.

To Forget Is The Secret Of Eternal Youth. One Grows Old Only Through Memory. There's Much Too Little Forgetting.

The Coffin, It Shall Protect Me, Though Death Himself Lies In It

We March Up, Moody Or Good-tempered Soldiers - We Reach The Zone Where The Front Begins And Become On The Instant Human Animals.

You May Turn Into An Archangel, A Fool, Or A Criminal—no One Will See It. But When A Button Is Missing—everyone Sees That.