Quote

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

Erich Maria Remarque

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Erich Maria Remarque
Age: 72 †
Born: 1898
Born: June 22
Died: 1970
Died: September 25
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Vienna
Austria
Erich Paul Remark
Erich Maria Remark
Away
Sucking
Stills
Centre
Still
Slowly
Inescapably
Feel
Mysterious
Whirlpool
Feels
Fronts
Whirlpools
Front
Whirl
Though
Irresistibly
Water
Vortex

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No matter how improbable an assertion is, if it is made with enough assurance it has an affect.
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... but that's what mankind is like: they only prize what they no longer possess.
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Everyone saves someone at least once. Just as he kills someone at least once. Even though he may not know it.
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Strange how complicated we can make things just to avoid showing what we feel!
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We came to realise - first with astonishment, then bitterness, and finally with indifference - that intellect apparently wasn't the most important thing...not ideas, but the system not freedom, but drill. We had joined up with enthusiasm and with good will but they did everything to knock that out of us.
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We want to live at any price so we cannot burden ourselves with feelings which, though they might be ornamental enough in peace-time, would be out of place here.
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We march up, moody or good-tempered soldiers - we reach the zone where the front begins and become on the instant human animals.
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... clothes sometimes gave one more of a lift than any philosophic comforting.
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The coffin, it shall protect me, though Death himself lies in it
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Life is a disease, brother, and death begins already at birth. Every breath, every heartbeat, is a moment of dying - a little shove toward the end.
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The idea of authority, which they represented, was associated in our minds with a greater insight and a more humane wisdom.
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I wandered through the streets thinking of all the things I might have said and might have done had I been other than I was.
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We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world and we had to shoot it to pieces.
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What comfort there is in the skin of someone you love!
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For a moment I had a strange intuition that just this, and in a real, profound sense, is life and perhaps happiness even - love with a mixture of sadness, reverence, and silent knowledge.
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Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades - words, words, but they hold the horror of the world.
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Trenches, hospitals, the common grave--there are no other possibilities.
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A man can gasp out his life beside you-and you feel none of it. Pity, Sympathy, sure-but you don't feel the pain. Your belly is whole and that's what counts. A half-yard away someone's world is snuffled out in roaring agony-and you feel nothing. That's the misery of the world.
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We have lost all sense of other considerations, because they are artificial. Only the facts are real and important to us. And good boots are hard to come by. - All Quiet On The Western Front, Ch. 2
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