Quotes from Erich Maria Remarque

?ovek se hvata samo u svojim vlastitim snovima - a nikad u tu?im. ?ovek se hvata ili gubi.

Detering walks about cursing. 'What have they done to deserve that, that's what I want to know?' And later on he comes back to it again. His voice is agitated and he sounds as if he is making a speech when he says, 'I tell you this: it is the most despicable thing of all to drag animals into a war.

A miracle is never perfect when it happens, there are always little disappointments. But once it's gone for good and nothing can change it, memory could make it perfect and then it would never change. If I can just call it to life now, won't it always stay the same? Won't it stay with me as long as I live?

Aga nii see inimene on: hindab ainult seda, millest ilma jääb.

If we were not automata at that moment we would continue lying there, exhausted, and without will. But we are swept forward again, powerless, madly savage and raging; we will kill, for they are still our mortal enemies, their rifles and bombs are aimed against us, and if we don't destroy them, they will destroy us.

We are like those abandoned fields full of shell holes in France, no less peaceful than other ploughed lands about them, but in them are lying still the buried explosives, and until these shall have been dug out and cleared away, to plough will be a danger both to the plougher and the ploughed.

Might! I say to myself, Might, always Might—and be it no more than an inch it is merciless.

Cans. We don't have to think anymore. Everything is premeditated, pre-chewed, pre-felt. Cans. All you have to do is open them. Delivered to your home three times a day. Nothing any more to cultivate yourself, or let grow and boil on the fire of questions, of doubt, and of desire. Cans.

See, mida sa kätte ei saa, paistab alati paremini kui see, mis käes on. Selles seisnebki inimese elu romantika ning idiotism.

and without love, one is a dead man on furlough, nothing but a scrap of paper with a few dates and a chance name on it, and we as well die.

I felt today when the night melted away into a flowering bush and the wind smelled of strawberries and without love one is only a dead man on furlough, nothing but a scrap of paper with a few dates and a chance name on it and one might as well die

I knew that the late Zalewski, rest his soul, despite his motto, literally drank himself to death. His wife had on other occasions told me so often enough. But that didn't worry her. She used her husband as other folk do the Bible—for quotations. And the longer he was dead the harder she worked him. He now had something for all occasions—just like the Bible.

Najlakše se gubi što se drži u ruci, nikad ono što se napušta.

No one would believe that in this howling waste there could still be men; but steel helmets now appear on all sides out of the trench, and fifty yards from us a machine-gun is already in position and barking. The wire entanglements are torn to pieces. Yet they offer some obstacle. We see the storm-troops coming. Our artillery opens fire. Machine-guns rattle, rifles crack.

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.

Taktas yra tylus susitarimas nematyti kits kito klaid? ir netaisyti j?.

They were living corpses and died like flies in frost. The Small camp was full of them. They were broken and lost and nothing could save them—not even freedom.

The car ran almost noiselessly. It ran as if gravity had no power over it. Houses glided past, churches, villages, the golden spots of the estaminets and bistros, a gleaming river, a mill, and then again the even contour of the plain, the sky arching above it like the inside of a huge shell in whose milky nacre shimmered the pearl of the moon.

He drove the car back through the night to Paris. The hedges and orchards of Normandy flew past him. The moon hung oval and large in the misty sky. The ship was forgotten. Only the landscape remained. The landscape, the smell of hay and ripe apples, the silence and the deep peace of the inevitable

Biz art?k o eski tasas?zlar deÄŸiliz; biz ÅŸimdi müthiÅŸ vurdumduymaz olduk. ÖlmeyeceÄŸiz ama yaÅŸayacak m?y?z? Kimsesiz çocuklar gibi b?rak?lm??, yaÅŸl? insanlar gibi görmüÅŸ geçirmiÅŸiz; kabay?z, üzgünüz, sat?htay?z... galiba mahvolmuÅŸuz.

the shelling is stronger than everything. It wipes out the sensibilities, I merely crawl still farther under the coffin, it shall protect me, though Death himself lies in it.

Was wissen sie davon? Sie waren jung, und man hat Sie mit Lügen vergiftet, bevor Sie urteilen konnten. Aber wir, - wir haben es gesehen und geschehen lassen! Was war es? Trägheit des Herzens? Gleichgültigkeit? Armut? Egoismus? Verzweiflung? Aber wie konnte es eine solche Pest weren? Meinen Sie, ich denke nicht täglich darüber nach?

The scene struck me as typical of the sinister, demonic mob spirit of our times, of all the frightened, hysterical crowds who follow slogans. It makes no difference whether the slogans come from the right or the left, as long as they relieve the masses of the hard work of thinking and of the need to take responsibility.

The State, that immune betrayer, which embezzles billions and jails anyone who defrauds it of as much as five marks, would find some pretext for not paying.