There Is Something Indecent In Words .

It Is Not That Things Happen To Each Of Us According To His Fate, But That He Interprets What Has Happened, If He Has Power To Do So, According To His Sense Of His Own Destiny .

We Never Remember Days, Only Moments.

Maybe It's Better Like This, Better That Everything Should Go Up In A Blaze Of Dry Grass And That People Should Begin Again.

Work Alone Isn't Enough For Me And Mine; We Know How To Break Our Backs, But The Great Dream Of My Fathers Was To Be Good At Doing Nothing.

War Makes Men Barbarous Because, To Take Part In It, One Must Harden Oneself Against All Regret, All Appreciation Of Delicacy And Sensitive Values. One Must Live As If Those Values Did Not Exist, And When The War Is Over One Has Lost The Resilience To Return To Those Values.