Уви, светът обърнал се в пустиня!
Море от злоба и разврат!...
Иди живей сред туй море от тиня,
сред толкоз много кал и смрад!
Страхуваме се от собствените си чувства. А когота ги почувстваме, веднага мислим, че сме измамници.
Erich Maria RemarqueStichwörter: feelings
Още една жена, която не знае къде да отиде. Нощем не знаят къде да отидат, а сутрин изчезват преди да се събудиш. Тогава знаят къде да отидат. Познато, евтино отчаяние, което настъпва с нощта и изчезва с нея.
Erich Maria RemarqueStichwörter: love women lovers
A line, a short line, stumbles off into the morning. Thirty two men.
Erich Maria RemarqueStichwörter: all-quiet-on-the-western-front
I love him, his shoulders, his angular, stooping figure – and at the same time I see behind him woods and stars, and a clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, a soldier in big boots, belt, and a knapsack, taking the road that lies before him under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky.
Erich Maria RemarqueЛюбовь - вопрос чувства, не вопрос морали. Но чувство не знает предательства. Оно растет, исчезает, меняется - где же тут предательство? Это же не контракт.
Erich Maria RemarqueWe're no longer young men. We've lost any desire to conquer the world. We are refugees. We are fleeing from ourselves. From our lives. We were eighteen years old, and we had just begun to love the world and to love being in it; but we had to shoot at it. The first shell to land went straight for our hearts. We've been cut off from real action, from getting on, from progress. We don't believe in those things any more; we believe in the war.
Erich Maria RemarqueStichwörter: war
Човек притежава малкото разум, за да проумее, че не може да се живее само с разум. Хората живеят с чувствата си, а за чувствата е безразлично кой е прав.
Erich Maria RemarqueSweet dreams though the guns are booming.
Erich Maria RemarqueI dislike his talk; it goes against my grain to hear him speak so contemptuously of cobblers. They made as good soldiers as the finer folk, anyway. Adolf Bethke was a cobbler, for that matter,--and he knew a sight more about war than a good many majors. It was the man that counted with us, not his occupation.
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