Where I Live, Everything Is Very Small.

Man's Progress Is But A Gradual Discovery That His Questions Have No Meaning.

War Is Not An Adventure. It Is A Disease. It Is Like Typhus.

It Is The Savor Of Bread Broken With Comrades That Makes Us Accept The Values Of War.

One Runs The Risk Of Weeping A Little, If One Lets Himself Be Tamed.

Pure Logic Is The Ruin Of The Spirit.