Quotes from Erich Maria Remarque

Albert expresses it: "The war has ruined us for everything." He is right. We are not youth any longer. We don't want to take the world by storm. We are fleeing. We fly from ourselves. From our life. We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and we had to shoot it to pieces. The first bomb, the first explosion, burst in our hearts. We are cut off from activity, from striving, from progress. We believe in such things no longer, we believe in the war. The

When a man has seen so many dead he cannot understand any longer why there should be so much anguish over a single individual.

You can't know anything beforehand. The incurable can survive the healthy. Life is a strange phenomenon.

Here where you stand, a young Etruscan woman stood in just the same way three thousand years ago—and the wind came in just this way from Africa and chased the light across the ocean.

the invisible storehouse in nothingness, called memory.

Nachts ist man das, was man eigentlich sein soll; nicht das, was man geworden ist.

Here lies our comrade, Kemmerich, who a little while ago was roasting horse flesh with us and squatting in the shell-holes. He it is still and yet it is not he any longer. His features have become uncertain and faint, like a photographic plate from which two pictures have been taken. Even his voice sounds like ashes.

Ravic knew the danger; he knew whither he was going and he also knew that tomorrow he would resist again—but suddenly in this night, in this hour of his return from a lost Ararat into the blood-smell of coming destruction, everything became nameless. Danger was danger and not danger; fate was at the same time a sacrifice and the deity to whom one sacrificed. And tomorrow was an unknown world

Te? kiedyÅ› to pani czuÅ'a? - zapytaÅ'. MilczaÅ'a przez chwilÄ™. -Owszem, ale nie tak. Inaczej. Kiedy caÅ'ymi dniami nie mówiÅ'am do nikogo, a nocami spacerowaÅ'am, i wszÄ™dzie byli ludzie, którzy mieli gdzieÅ› swoje miejsce, którzy dokÄ…dÅ› chodzili, mieli gdzieÅ› swój dom. Tylko ja nie. Wtedy wszystko powoli stawaÅ'o siÄ™ nierzeczywiste, jakbym siÄ™ utopiÅ'a i szÅ'a po dnie przez jakieÅ› obce podwodne miasto...

Es esmu ?oti slikts biedrs, Robij. To es ceru, sac?ju. Es ar? negribu sievieti par biedru. Es gribu m???ko. T? es ar? neesmu, vi?a nomurmin?ja. Kas tad tu esi? Ne puse, ne kas vesels. Tikai fragments... T? ar? vislab?k, es teicu. Tas ierosina fant?ziju. T?das sievietes var m?žam m?l?t. Gatavas sievietes dr?z apn?k. V?rt?g?s ar?. Fragmenti nekad.

Be meil?s žmogus - tik atostogaujantis lavonas.

Mes amžinai pamirštam, kad gyvenam šitoje planetoje tik trump? laik?. Tod?l ir ?sigyjame absoliu?iai klaiding? pasaulio kompleks?. Lyg b?tue žmon?s, kuriems b?t? duota gyventi amžinai.

To jedna z tych chwil, kiedy barwy siÄ™ rozpadajÄ…, a ?ycie szarzeje w bezsilnych dÅ'oniach. Mistyczny odpÅ'yw. Bezd?wiÄ™czna cezura miÄ™dzy oddechami. UkÄ…szenie czasu, który powoli po?era serce.

Nie ka?dy ma takie ?ycie, ?eby nadawaÅ'o siÄ™ na dom dla niego, który bÄ™dzie mógÅ' dekorowa? coraz bogatszymi meblami wspomnieÅ". Niektórzy mieszkajÄ… w hotelach, w niejednym hotelu. Lata zatrzaskujÄ… siÄ™ za nimi jak drzwi hoteli - i jedyne, co im pozostaje, to odrobina odwagi, ale nikt ich nie ?aÅ'uje.

If things went according to the death notices, ... the earth seems to have been populated by a horde of wingless angels without one's having been aware of it. Pure love, which in reality is to be found so seldom, shines on all sides in death, and is the commonest thing of all.

DorinÈ›ele mele sunt împletite ciudat din pofte È™i abandon.

We don't act like that because we are in good humor; we are in a good humor because otherwise we should go to pieces.

We had fancied our task would be different, only to find we were to be trained for heroism as though we were circus-ponies. But we soon accustomed ourselves to it. We learned in fact that some of these things were necessary, but the rest merely show. Soldiers have a fine nose for such distinctions.

In this way the squad has merely made the turn-about and a couple of paces, while the squad-leader dashes backwards and forwards like a fart on a curtain-pole.

we developed a firm, practical feeling of solidarity, which grew, on the battlefield, into the best thing that the war produced - comradeship in arms.

I feel excited; but I do not want to be, for that is not right. I want that quiet rapture again. I want to feel the same powerful, nameless urge that I used to feel when I turned to my books. The breath of desire that then arose from the coloured backs of the books, shall fill me again, melt the heavy, dead lump of lead that lies somewhere in me and waken again the impatience of the future, the quick joy in the world of thought, it shall bring back again

It is a strange thing that all the memories have these two qualities. They are always full of quietness, that is the most striking thing about them; and even when things weren't like that in reality, they still seem to have that quality. They are soundless apparitions, which speak to me by looks and gestures, wordless and silent—and their silence is precisely what disturbs me.

My feet begin to move forward in my boots, I go quicker, I run. Soldiers pass by me, I hear their voices without understanding. The earth is streaming with forces which pour into me through the soles of my feet. The night crackles electrically, the front thunders like a concert of drums. My limbs move supplely, I feel my joints strong, I breathe the air deeply. The night lives, I live. I feel a hunger, greater than comes from the belly alone.

Please let the wind of desire that rose from the multi-coloured spines of those books catch me up again, let it melt the heavy, lifeless lead weight that is there somewhere inside me, and awaken in me once again the impatience of the future, the soaring delight in the world of the intellect – let it carry me back into the ready-for-anything lost world of my youth.