Quotes About Fear

Kiekvien? akimirk? jau?iame, kad negalime laim?s išlaikyti, ir n? nebandome <...> Bet jeigu mes nem?giname su?iupti jos ir sutur?ti savo šiurkš?iomis rankomis, tai gal ji, niekieno nebaidoma, išlieka m?s? aki? gilumoje? Gal ji išlieka ten, kol gyvos tos akys?

Before my mother's tremulous anxiety I recover my composure. Now I can walk about and talk and answer questions without fear of having suddenly to lean against the wall because the world turns soft as rubber and my veins become brimstone.

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 a thin skin stretched painfully over repressed madness, over an almost irresistible, bursting roar. We have neither flesh nor muscles 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.

Er erkannte die Hoffnungslosigkeit, zu der Gerechtigkeit und Mitgefühl ewig verurteilt waren: immer wieder an Selbstsucht, Gleichgültigkeit und Angst zu stranden.

That's how we are! Afraid of our feelings. And when we become aware of them we immediately think we are swindlers.

Terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks; - but it kills, if a man thinks about it.

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.

While they went on writing and making speeches, we saw field hospitals and men dying: while they preached the service of the state as the greatest thing, we already knew that the fear of death is even greater.

To no man does the earth mean so much as to the soldier. When he presses himself down upon her long and powerfully, when he buries his face and his limbs deep in her from the fear of death by shell-fire, then she is his only friend, his brother, his mother; he stifles his terror and his cries in her silence and her security; she shelters him and releases him for ten seconds to live, to run, ten seconds of life; receives him again and often for ever.

And be very careful at the front, Paul." Ah, Mother, Mother! Why do I not take you in my arms and die with you. What poor wretches we are!

?ovek gubi hrabrost. Veruje da se može navi?i na razo?aranja. To nije ta?no. Ona svaki put sve više bole tako da se ?ovek uplaši. To je kao da se svaki put više ope?e. I svaki put sporije zarasta. Ne želim da se još koji put ope?em.

The pillars of human society are covetousness, fear, and corruption," retorted Grau. "Man is evil, but loves the good—when others do it.

The hospitals are all full to overflowing, no one is properly looked after there, and once a man lies down on it, he is only so much nearer to being dead. Men die all around one. It gets on a fellow's nerves, alone there among it all, and before he knows where he is, he has made another himself.

As usual in times of war, fear, and affliction, the individual human being had ceased to exist; only one thing counted: a valid passport.

Kartais žmogus netenki dr?sos, - tar? Nataša. - O kitais kartais pamanai, kad prie nusivylim? galima priprasti. Bet taip n?ra. Kiekvien? kart? jie vis labiau skaudina. Jie taip skaudina, kad žmog? pagauna baim?. Atrodo, kad kiekvien? kart? atsiranda vis didesni nudegimai. Ir kiekvien? kart? jie vis l??iau gyja.

Kokia ?ia dr?sa? Aš ne iš dr?si?j?. Kartais man b?davo gana baisu. Kaip žmogui, kuris, at?j?s ? teatr?, s?di ne savo vietoje ir vis d?lto neina iš jos.

We have become wild beasts. We do not fight, we defend ourselves against annihilation.

The Front is a cage in which we must await fearfully whatever may happen. We lie under the network of arching shells and live in a suspense of uncertainty.

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.

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.

They are more to me than life, these voices, they are more than motherliness and more than fear; they are the strongest, most comforting thing there is anywhere; they are the voices of my comrades.

To me the front is a mysterious whirlpool. Though I am in still water away from its centre, I feel the whirl of the vortex sucking me slowly, irresistibly, inescapably into itself.

The dark turns into madness. It rocks and rages. Dark things, darker than the night itself, rush upon us in great waves, over us and onwards.

crouching like cats we run on, overwhelmed by this wave that bears us along, that fills us with ferocity, turns us into thugs, into murderers, into God only knows what devils; this wave that multiplies our strength with fear and madness and greed of life, seeking and fighting for nothing but our deliverance.