Quotes About Loss

On sekiz ya??nda idik; dünyay?, hayat? sevmeye baÅŸlam??t?k, sevdiÄŸimiz bu ÅŸeylere kurÅŸun s?kmak zorunda kald?k. Patlayan ilk mermiler kalbimize sapland?. Çal??ma, çaba, ilerleme kap?lar? kapand? bize. Biz bunlara art?k inanm?yoruz, biz harbe inan?yoruz.

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, daß die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer – eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren – aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.

das verlorene Bereitsein meiner Jugend

Ya no somos jóvenes. Ya no queremos conquistar el mundo. Somos fugitivos. Huimos de nosotros mismos. De nuestra vida. Teníamos dieciocho años y empezábamos a amar el mundo y la existencia; tuvimos que disparar contra eso. La primera granada que explosionó, lo hizo en nuestro corazón. Estamos al margen de la actividad, del esfuerzo, del progreso. Ya no creemos en nada de eso; creemos en la guerra.

Kantorek would say that we stood on the threshold of life. And so it would seem. We had as yet taken no root. The war swept us away. For the others, the older men, it is but an interruption. They are able to think beyond it. We, however, have been gripped by it and do not know what the end may be. We know only that in some strange and melancholy way we have become a waste land. All the same, we are not often sad.

In the afternoon, about three, he is dead. I

Today we have done an hour's saluting drill because Tjaden failed to salute a major smartly enough. Kat can't get it out of his head. "You take it from me, we are losing the war because we can salute too well," he says. Kropp

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us, 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 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 spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

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.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us 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.

Video sam u svom životu tolike mrtve da je za mene svaka bolest još uvek bila život i nada...

Avevamo diciott'anni, e cominciavamo ad amare il mondo, l'esistenza: ci hanno costretti a spararle contro.

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 war.

Still the little piece of convulsed earth in which we lie is held. We have yielded no more than a few hundred yards of it as a prize to the enemy. But on every yard there lies a dead man.

They are many indeed that lie there, though until now we have not thought of it so. Hitherto we have just all remained there together, they in the graves, we in the trenches, divided only by a few handfuls of earth. They were but a little before us; daily we became less and they more, and often we have not known whether we already belonged to them or not.

M?l?t noz?m? - grib?t atdot otram to, ko nevar patur?t.

Es dom?ju, ka esmu tevi pazaudÄ"jis," teicu, turÄ"dams vi?u cieÅ¡i apskautu. "Tu mani nekad nepazaudÄ"si," vi?a ?ukstÄ"ja zem Å¡au­r?s maskas. "Un zini, k?d?? ne? T?d??, ka tu mani nekad negribi paturÄ"t tik cieÅ¡i k? zemnieks savu tÄ«rumu. TurpretÄ« viside?l?kais vÄ«rs k??st garlaicÄ«gs.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do . . . 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 itself it is not. We could never regain the old intimacy with those scenes.

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 war.

Vengono i mesi e gli anni, non mi porteranno via mai più nulla. Sono tanto solo, tanto privo di speranza, che posso guardare dinanzi a me senza timore.

Über diesen Feldern scheinen die verlorenen Jahre weiter zu bestehen, die Jahre, die nicht gewesen sind, die keine Ruhe finden – der Schrei der Jugend wurde zu früh erstickt, fand ein zu jähes Ende. In der Nacht brechen sie aus der Erde hervor wie geisterhafte Irrlichter.

The war has ruined us for everything.

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, dass die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer - eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren - aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.

The graveyard is a mass of wreckage. Coffins and corpses lie strewn about. They have been killed once again; but each of them that was flung up saved one of us.