Quotes About War

Strange to say, Behm was one of the first to fall. He got hit in the eye during an attack, and we left him lying for dead. We couldn't bring him with us, because we had to come back helter-skelter. In the afternoon suddenly we heard him call, and saw him crawling about in No Man's Land. He had only been knocked unconscious. Because he could not see, and was mad with pain, he failed to keep under cover, and so was shot down

Our life alternates between billets and the front. We have almost grown accustomed to it; war is the cause of death like cancer and tuberculosis, like influenza and dysentery. The deaths are merely more frequent, more varied and terrible.

Albert, what would you do if it were suddenly peace-time again?" "There won't be any peace-time," says Albert bluntly. "Well, but if—" persists Müller, "what would you do?" "Clear out of this!" growls Kropp. "Of course. And then what?" "Get drunk," says Albert. "Don't talk rot, I mean seriously—" "So do I," says Kropp, "what else should a man do?

Tjaden comes back. He is still worked up and joins in the debate again straight away by asking how a war starts in the first place. 'Usually when one country insults another one badly,' answers Kropp, a little patronizingly. But Tjaden isn't going to be put off. 'A country? I don't get it. A German mountain can't insult a French mountain, or a river, or a forest, or a cornfield.

I think it's more a kind of fever,' says Albert. 'Nobody really wants it, but all of a sudden, there it is. We didn't want the war, they say the same thing on the other side – and in spite of that, half the world is at it hammer and tongs.

Was erwarten sie von uns, wenn eine Zeit kommt, wo kein Krieg ist? Jahre hindurch war unsere Beschäftigung Töten - es war unser erster Beruf im Dasein. Unser Wissen vom Leben beschränkt sich auf den Tod. Was soll danach noch geschehen? Und was soll aus uns werden?

We get back pretty well. There is no further attack by the enemy. We lie for an hour panting and resting before anyone speaks. We are so completely played out that in spite of our great hunger we do not think of the provisions. Then gradually we become something like men again.

No one will understand us – because in front of us there is a generation of men who did, it is true, share the years out here with us, but who already had a bed and a job and who are going back to their old positions, where they will forget all about the war – and behind us, a new generation is growing up, one like we used to be, and that generation will be strangers to us and will push us aside.

Albert expresses it: The war has ruined us for everything.

We are not, indeed, in the front-line, but only in the reserves, yet in every face can be read: This is the front, now we are within its embrace.

We are little flames poorly sheltered by frail walls against the storm of dissolution and madness, in which we flicker and sometimes almost go out. Then the muffled roar of the battle becomes a ring that encircles us, we creep in upon ourselves, and with big eyes stare into the night. Our only comfort is the steady breathing of our comrades asleep, and thus we wait for the morning.

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.

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.

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.

Katczinsky is right when he says it would not be such a bad war if only one could get a little more sleep.

When it is fairly quiet we can hear the transports behind the enemy lines rolling ceaselessly until dawn. Kat says that they do not go back but are bringing up troops—troops, munitions, and guns.

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.

There behind me on the stretchers my comrades are now lying and still they call. It is peace, yet they must die. But I, I am trembling with joy and am not ashamed. —And that is odd. Because none can ever wholly feel what another suffers—is that the reason why wars perpetually recur? 2

What's going on outside, Ravic?" "Nothing new, Kate. The world goes on eagerly preparing for suicide and at the same time deluding itself about what it's doing." "Will there be war?" "Everyone knows that there will be war. What one does not yet know is when. Everyone expects a miracle." Ravic smiled. "Never before have I seen so many politicians who believe in miracles as at present

While they taught that duty to one's country is the greatest thing, we already knew that death-throes are stronger.

Our life alternates between billets and the front. We have almost grown accustomed to it; war is the cause of death like cancer and tuberculosis, like influenza and dysentery. The deaths are merely

It brings a lump into the throat to see how they go over, and run and fall. A man would like to spank them, they are so stupid, and to take them by the arm and lead them away from here where they have no business to be. They wear grey coats and trousers and boots, but for most of them the uniform is far too big, it hangs on their limbs, their shoulders are too narrow, their bodies too slight; no uniform was ever made to these childish measurements.

And this I know: all these things that now, while we are still in the war, sink down in us like a stone, after the war shall waken again, and then shall begin the disentanglement of life and death.

Many slept crouching and the lucky one was he whose bedfellows died in the evening. They were then carried away, and for one night he could stretch out until new arrivals came.