Quotes from Erich Maria Remarque

Und was Sie auch haben – nehmen Sie es nicht zu wichtig. Es gibt wenig, das lange wichtig bleibt." Die Frau sah ihn an. Sie trank nicht. "Es ist so", sagte Ravic. "Besonders nachts. Die Nacht übertreibt.

The coffins are really for us. The organization surpasses itself in that kind of thing.

Once we had such desires - but they return not. They are past, they belong to another world that is gone from us.

Night again. We are deadened by the strain—a deadly tension that scrapes along one's spine like a gapped knife. Our legs refuse to move, our hands tremble, our bodies are thin stretched painfully over repressed madness, over an almost irresistible, bursting roar. We have neither flesh nor muscle any longer, we dare not look at one another for fear of some miscalculable thing. So we shut our teeth—it will end—it will end—perhaps we will come through.

It is just as much a matter of chance that I am still alive as that I might have been hit. In a bomb-proof dug-out I may be smashed to atoms and in the open may survive ten hours' bombardment unscathed. No soldier outlives a thousand chances. But every soldier believes in Chance and trusts his luck.

How senseless is everything that can ever be written, done, or thought, when such things are possible. It must be all lies and of no account when the culture of a thousand years could not prevent this stream of blood being poured out, these torture-chambers in their hundreds of thousands. A hospital alone shows what war is. I

I like being alone best, with no one to disturb me. Because everyone always comes round to the same topic of conversation, how badly things are going, how well they are going, one thinks this way, the next person the other way – and they quickly get on to the things that make up their own worlds. I'm sure that I was just like them myself, before; but now I can't find any real point of contact. - Paul Baumer

Meil? - tai troškimas perduoti toliau tai, ko negali išlaikyti. - Perduoti toliau? K?? G?žteliu pe?iais. - Tam esama daug vard?. Galb?t sav?j? aš, kur? norim išsaugot. Arba savo širdis. Taip ir pasakykim: širdis. Arba savo ilges?. Savo širdis.

Ništa nije opasnije od žene kaja sve voli. Kako da ?ovek onda udesi da voli samo njega?

My hands grow cold and my flesh creeps; and yet the night is warm. Only the mist is cold, this mysterious mist that trails over the dead and sucks from them their last, creeping life. By morning they will be pale and green and their blood congealed and black.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to use we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them; we might remember and love them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not

cilv?ks tikai tad apzin?s, kas vi?am pieder?jis, kad tas sl?d no rok?m ?r?.

Der Stolz mancher französischer Hoteliers besteht darin, daß sie die Fremden hassen, von denen sie leben.

This habit of getting used to things is the reason that we seem to forget so quickly.

Es lag ihm nichts daran in einer Zeit, wo alles schwankte, etwas aufzubauen, das in kurzer Zeit wieder zusammenstürzen mußte. Es war besser, zu treiben, als Kraft zu verschwenden, sie war das einzige, was unersetzbar war. Überstehen war alles, bis irgendwo wieder ein Ziel sichtbar wurde. Je weniger Kraft man dazu anwandte, umso besser; man hatte sie dann nachher.

He it is still and yet it is not he any longer.

Only thus were we prepared for what awaited us. We did not break down, but adapted ourselves; our twenty years, which made many another thing so grievous, helped us in this. But by far the most important result was that it awakened in us a strong, practical sense of esprit de corps, which in the field developed into the finest thing that arose out of the war—comradeship.

What has Kantorek [their teacher] written to you?' Muller asks him [Kropp]. He laughs. 'We are the Iron Youth.' We all three smile bitterly . . . Yes, that's what they think, these hundred thousand Kantoreks! Iron Youth! Youth! We are none of us more than twenty years old. But young? Youth? That is long ago. We are old folk.

Jeigu nors kartÄ… tikrai suprastume, kas yra gyvenimas, tikrai sprogtume!

Enese teadmata oleme ikka veel sõdurid.

Džiaukis gyvenimu ir m?styk tik tada, kai tai reikalinga. - O kada reikalinga? - Kai nori užsidirbti pinig? arba prasimušti.

That they have, indeed! My sisters tell how they had to scrounge to get the supper together. Twice the gendarmes took everything from them at the station. The third time they sewed the eggs inside their cloaks, put the sausages into their blouses and hid the potatoes in pockets inside their skirts. That time they got through.

once more, dully menacing, comes the noise of gunfire, and already from afar, like the bill of a woodpecker, sounds the knock-knocking of a machine gun. We grow calm and are almost glad to hear again the familiar, trusty noises of death.

A word of command has made these silent figures our enemies; a word of command might transform them into our friends. At some table a document is signed by some persons whom none of us knows, and then for years together that very crime on which formerly the world's condemnation and severest penalty fall, becomes our highest aim.