Sweet Dreams Though The Guns Are Booming.

Every Little Bean Must Be Heard As Well As Seen!

Do I Walk? Have I Feet Still? I Raise My Eyes, I Let Them Move Round, And Turn Myself With Them, One Circle, One Circle, And I Stand In The Midst. All Is As Usual. Only The Militiaman Stanislaus Katczinsky Has Died. Then I Know Nothing More.

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…we Creep In Upon Ourselves And With Big Eyes Stare Into The Night…and Thus We Wait For Morning.

Someone Said To Me Once That A Cigarette At The Right Moment Is Better Than All The Ideals In The World.

You Take It From Me, We Are Losing The War Because We Can Salute Too Well.