Text stringlengths 1 42.7k ⌀ | Speaker stringclasses 528
values | Text_10_word_context stringlengths 44 42.8k | Text_20_word_context stringlengths 74 42.8k | Text_100_word_context stringlengths 291 43.2k | Text_200_word_context stringlengths 562 43.7k | Text_400_word_context stringlengths 1.08k 44.7k | Text_800_word_context stringlengths 2.14k 46.9k | Text_1600_word_context stringlengths 4.15k 51.3k | Text_variable_400_to_1200_word_context stringlengths 1.3k 48k | Book stringclasses 47
values |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
"You cow" | Paul | his head against the wall--<|quote|>"You cow"</|quote|>--I kick him in the | eye becomes glassy, I knock his head against the wall--<|quote|>"You cow"</|quote|>--I kick him in the ribs-- "You swine" --I push | is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump, will you get out--you hound, you skunk, sneak out of it, would you?" His eye becomes glassy, I knock his head against the wall--<|quote|>"You cow"</|quote|>--I kick him in the ribs-- "You swine" --I push h... | here. "Get out!" I spit. He does not stir, his lips quiver, his moustache twitches. "Out!" I repeat. He draws up his legs, crouches back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur. I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. He barks. That is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a s... | suffocation. * * In one part of the trench I suddenly run into Himmelstoss. We dive into the same dug-out. Breathless we are all lying one beside the other waiting for the charge. When we run out again, although I am very excited, I suddenly think: "Where's Himmelstoss?" Quickly I jump back into the dug-out and find hi... | at them. Their sharp, downy, dead faces have the awful expressionlessness of dead children. 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 wea... | torn off. Dead, his chest leans against the side of the trench, his face is lemon-yellow, in his beard stills burns a cigarette. It glows until it dies out on his lips. We put the dead in a large shell-hole. So far there are three layers, one on top of the other. * * Suddenly the shelling begins to pound again. Soon we... | an ear for the sound and character of the shells, must be able to decide beforehand where they will drop, how they will burst, and how to shelter from them. The young recruits of course know none of these things. They get killed simply because they can hardly tell shrapnel from high-explosive, they are mown down becaus... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
--I kick him in the ribs-- | No speaker | against the wall-- "You cow"<|quote|>--I kick him in the ribs--</|quote|>"You swine" --I push him | glassy, I knock his head against the wall-- "You cow"<|quote|>--I kick him in the ribs--</|quote|>"You swine" --I push him toward the door and shove | much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump, will you get out--you hound, you skunk, sneak out of it, would you?" His eye becomes glassy, I knock his head against the wall-- "You cow"<|quote|>--I kick him in the ribs--</|quote|>"You swine" --I push him towa... | out!" I spit. He does not stir, his lips quiver, his moustache twitches. "Out!" I repeat. He draws up his legs, crouches back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur. I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. He barks. That is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his he... | * In one part of the trench I suddenly run into Himmelstoss. We dive into the same dug-out. Breathless we are all lying one beside the other waiting for the charge. When we run out again, although I am very excited, I suddenly think: "Where's Himmelstoss?" Quickly I jump back into the dug-out and find him with a small ... | Their sharp, downy, dead faces have the awful expressionlessness of dead children. 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 co... | Dead, his chest leans against the side of the trench, his face is lemon-yellow, in his beard stills burns a cigarette. It glows until it dies out on his lips. We put the dead in a large shell-hole. So far there are three layers, one on top of the other. * * Suddenly the shelling begins to pound again. Soon we are sitti... | rear, and miss the light, piping whistle of the low spreading little daisy-cutters. They flock together like sheep instead of scattering, and even the wounded are shot down like hares by the airmen. Their pale turnip faces, their pitiful clenched hands, the miserable courage of these poor devils, the desperate charges ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"You swine" | Paul | kick him in the ribs--<|quote|>"You swine"</|quote|>--I push him toward the | the wall-- "You cow" --I kick him in the ribs--<|quote|>"You swine"</|quote|>--I push him toward the door and shove him out | by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump, will you get out--you hound, you skunk, sneak out of it, would you?" His eye becomes glassy, I knock his head against the wall-- "You cow" --I kick him in the ribs--<|quote|>"You swine"</|quote|>--I push him toward the door and shove hi... | stir, his lips quiver, his moustache twitches. "Out!" I repeat. He draws up his legs, crouches back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur. I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. He barks. That is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side.... | trench I suddenly run into Himmelstoss. We dive into the same dug-out. Breathless we are all lying one beside the other waiting for the charge. When we run out again, although I am very excited, I suddenly think: "Where's Himmelstoss?" Quickly I jump back into the dug-out and find him with a small scratch lying in a co... | the awful expressionlessness of dead children. 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 ... | side of the trench, his face is lemon-yellow, in his beard stills burns a cigarette. It glows until it dies out on his lips. We put the dead in a large shell-hole. So far there are three layers, one on top of the other. * * Suddenly the shelling begins to pound again. Soon we are sitting up once more with the rigid ten... | but with battered chests and torn bellies and arms and legs only whimper softly for their mothers and cease as soon as one looks at them. Their sharp, downy, dead faces have the awful expressionlessness of dead children. It brings a lump into the throat to see how they go over, and run and fall. A man would like to spa... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
--I push him toward the door and shove him out head first. Another wave of our attack has just come up. A lieutenant is with them. He sees us and yells; | No speaker | in the ribs-- "You swine"<|quote|>--I push him toward the door and shove him out head first. Another wave of our attack has just come up. A lieutenant is with them. He sees us and yells;</|quote|>"Forward, forward, join in, follow." | "You cow" --I kick him in the ribs-- "You swine"<|quote|>--I push him toward the door and shove him out head first. Another wave of our attack has just come up. A lieutenant is with them. He sees us and yells;</|quote|>"Forward, forward, join in, follow." And the word of command | neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump, will you get out--you hound, you skunk, sneak out of it, would you?" His eye becomes glassy, I knock his head against the wall-- "You cow" --I kick him in the ribs-- "You swine"<|quote|>--I push him toward the door and shove him out head first... | lips quiver, his moustache twitches. "Out!" I repeat. He draws up his legs, crouches back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur. I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. He barks. That is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump... | suddenly run into Himmelstoss. We dive into the same dug-out. Breathless we are all lying one beside the other waiting for the charge. When we run out again, although I am very excited, I suddenly think: "Where's Himmelstoss?" Quickly I jump back into the dug-out and find him with a small scratch lying in a corner pret... | expressionlessness of dead children. 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 th... | the trench, his face is lemon-yellow, in his beard stills burns a cigarette. It glows until it dies out on his lips. We put the dead in a large shell-hole. So far there are three layers, one on top of the other. * * Suddenly the shelling begins to pound again. Soon we are sitting up once more with the rigid tenseness o... | the sound and character of the shells, must be able to decide beforehand where they will drop, how they will burst, and how to shelter from them. The young recruits of course know none of these things. They get killed simply because they can hardly tell shrapnel from high-explosive, they are mown down because they are ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
And the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curta... | No speaker | "Forward, forward, join in, follow."<|quote|>And the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant a... | He sees us and yells; "Forward, forward, join in, follow."<|quote|>And the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstr... | head against the wall-- "You cow" --I kick him in the ribs-- "You swine" --I push him toward the door and shove him out head first. Another wave of our attack has just come up. A lieutenant is with them. He sees us and yells; "Forward, forward, join in, follow."<|quote|>And the word of command does what all my bangi... | up. He barks. That is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump, will you get out--you hound, you skunk, sneak out of it, would you?" His eye becomes glassy, I knock his head against the wall-- "You cow" --I kick him in the ribs-- "You swine" --I push... | "Where's Himmelstoss?" Quickly I jump back into the dug-out and find him with a small scratch lying in a corner pretending to be wounded. His face looks sullen. He is in a panic; he is new to it too. But it makes me mad that the young recruits should be out there and he here. "Get out!" I spit. He does not stir, his... | 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. Between five... | one on top of the other. * * Suddenly the shelling begins to pound again. Soon we are sitting up once more with the rigid tenseness of blank anticipation. Attack, counter-attack, charge, repulse--these are words, but what things they signify! We have lost a good many men, mostly recruits. Reinforcements have again been... | childish measurements. Between five and ten recruits fall to every old hand. A surprise gas-attack carries off a lot of them. They have not yet learned what to do. We found one dug-out full of them, with blue heads and black lips. Some of them in a shell hole took their masks off too soon; they did not know that the ga... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
We sharpen their ears to the malicious, hardly audible buzz of the smaller shells that are not so easily distinguished. They must pick them out from the general din by their insect-like hum--we explain to them that these are far more dangerous than the big ones that can be heard long beforehand. We show them how to t... | No speaker | can run from a mortar."<|quote|>We sharpen their ears to the malicious, hardly audible buzz of the smaller shells that are not so easily distinguished. They must pick them out from the general din by their insect-like hum--we explain to them that these are far more dangerous than the big ones that can be heard long be... | then run for it. You can run from a mortar."<|quote|>We sharpen their ears to the malicious, hardly audible buzz of the smaller shells that are not so easily distinguished. They must pick them out from the general din by their insect-like hum--we explain to them that these are far more dangerous than the big ones that... | look upon us as gods that escape death many times. In the few hours of rest we teach them. "There, see that waggle-top? That's a mortar coming. Keep down, it will go clean over. But if it comes this way, then run for it. You can run from a mortar."<|quote|>We sharpen their ears to the malicious, hardly audible buzz ... | colourless faces of the dying, we cram food into us, we run, we throw, we shoot, we kill, we lie about, we are feeble and spent, and nothing supports us but the knowledge that there are still feebler, still more spent, still more helpless ones there who, with staring eyes, look upon us as gods that escape death many ti... | is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades--words, words, but they hold the horror of the world. Our faces are encrusted, our thoughts are devastated, we are weary to death; wh... | to it too. But it makes me mad that the young recruits should be out there and he here. "Get out!" I spit. He does not stir, his lips quiver, his moustache twitches. "Out!" I repeat. He draws up his legs, crouches back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur. I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. ... | tell shrapnel from high-explosive, they are mown down because they are listening anxiously to the roar of the big coal-boxes falling far in the rear, and miss the light, piping whistle of the low spreading little daisy-cutters. They flock together like sheep instead of scattering, and even the wounded are shot down lik... | dive into the same dug-out. Breathless we are all lying one beside the other waiting for the charge. When we run out again, although I am very excited, I suddenly think: "Where's Himmelstoss?" Quickly I jump back into the dug-out and find him with a small scratch lying in a corner pretending to be wounded. His face loo... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to... | No speaker | hand; "It's all up, Paul,"<|quote|>he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smas... | I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul,"<|quote|>he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his ha... | can save them from death. They listen, they are docile--but when it begins again, in their excitement they do everything wrong. Haie Westhus drags off with a great wound in his back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul,"<|quote|>he groans and bites his arm because... | lightning before the shells with instantaneous fuses; we show them how to clean up a trench with a handful of bombs; we explain the difference between the fuse-length of the enemy bombs and our own; we put them wise to the sound of gas shells;--show them all the tricks that can save them from death. They listen, they a... | We sharpen their ears to the malicious, hardly audible buzz of the smaller shells that are not so easily distinguished. They must pick them out from the general din by their insect-like hum--we explain to them that these are far more dangerous than the big ones that can be heard long beforehand. We show them how to t... | is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades--words, words, but they hold the horror of the world. Our faces are encrusted, our thoughts are devastated, we are weary to death; wh... | hangs on their limbs, their shoulders are too narrow, their bodies too slight; no uniform was ever made to these childish measurements. Between five and ten recruits fall to every old hand. A surprise gas-attack carries off a lot of them. They have not yet learned what to do. We found one dug-out full of them, with blu... | back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur. I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. He barks. That is too much for me. I grab him by the neck and shake him like a sack, his head jerks from side to side. "You lump, will you get out--you hound, you skunk, sneak out of it, would you?" His eye becomes gla... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused heap, a remnant of many names. On either side stand people, dark, calling out the numbers of the regiments, the companies. And at each call ... | No speaker | and when the call "Mind--wire"<|quote|>comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused heap, a remnant of many names. On either side stand people, dark, calling out the numbers of the regim... | beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire"<|quote|>comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused heap, a remnant of many names. On either side stand people, dark, calling ... | 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. * * We have been relieved. The wheels roll beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire"<|quote|>comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were ... | without faces; we find one man who has held the artery of his arm in his teeth for two hours in order not to bleed to death. The sun goes down, night comes, the shells whine, life is at an end. 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... | great wound in his back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul," he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next ... | Keep down, it will go clean over. But if it comes this way, then run for it. You can run from a mortar." We sharpen their ears to the malicious, hardly audible buzz of the smaller shells that are not so easily distinguished. They must pick them out from the general din by their insect-like hum--we explain to them that... | a small scratch lying in a corner pretending to be wounded. His face looks sullen. He is in a panic; he is new to it too. But it makes me mad that the young recruits should be out there and he here. "Get out!" I spit. He does not stir, his lips quiver, his moustache twitches. "Out!" I repeat. He draws up his legs, cr... | and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades--words, words, but they hold the horror of the world. Our faces are ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
And then more softly: | No speaker | again: "Second Company, this way!"<|quote|>And then more softly:</|quote|>"Nobody else Second Company?" He | the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!"<|quote|>And then more softly:</|quote|>"Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily | recognize Kat and Albert, we stand together, lean against each other, and look at one another. And we hear the number of our company called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!"<|quote|>And then more softly:</|quote|>"No... | itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Albert, we stand together, lean aga... | of it as a prize to the enemy. But on every yard there lies a dead man. * * We have been relieved. The wheels roll beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire" comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries... | sound of gas shells;--show them all the tricks that can save them from death. They listen, they are docile--but when it begins again, in their excitement they do everything wrong. Haie Westhus drags off with a great wound in his back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up... | wave of our attack has just come up. A lieutenant is with them. He sees us and yells; "Forward, forward, join in, follow." And the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the sm... | back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul," he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
He is silent, and then huskily he says: | No speaker | softly: "Nobody else Second Company?"<|quote|>He is silent, and then huskily he says:</|quote|>"Is that all?" and gives | this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?"<|quote|>He is silent, and then huskily he says:</|quote|>"Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!" The morning | against each other, and look at one another. And we hear the number of our company called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?"<|quote|>He is silent, and then huskily h... | soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Albert, we stand together, lean against each other, and look at one another. And... | But on every yard there lies a dead man. * * We have been relieved. The wheels roll beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire" comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused... | that can save them from death. They listen, they are docile--but when it begins again, in their excitement they do everything wrong. Haie Westhus drags off with a great wound in his back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul," he groans and bites his arm because of... | A lieutenant is with them. He sees us and yells; "Forward, forward, join in, follow." And the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground,... | dangerous than the big ones that can be heard long beforehand. We show them how to take cover from aircraft, how to simulate a dead man when one is overrun in an attack, how to time hand-grenades so that they explode half a second before hitting the ground; we teach them to fling themselves into holes as quick as light... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
and gives the order: | No speaker | he says: "Is that all?"<|quote|>and gives the order:</|quote|>"Number!" The morning is grey, | is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?"<|quote|>and gives the order:</|quote|>"Number!" The morning is grey, it was still summer when | the number of our company called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?"<|quote|>and gives the order:</|quote|>"Num... | someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Albert, we stand together, lean against each other, and look at one another. And we hear the number of our company called again and again. He will call a ... | We have been relieved. The wheels roll beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire" comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused heap, a remnant of many names. On either si... | when it begins again, in their excitement they do everything wrong. Haie Westhus drags off with a great wound in his back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul," he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we se... | forward, join in, follow." And the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. ... | knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulge his intestines; we see men without mouths, without jaws, without faces; we find one man who has held the artery of his arm in his teeth for two hours in order not to bleed to death. The sun goes down, night comes, the shells whine, li... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: | No speaker | and gives the order: "Number!"<|quote|>The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily:</|quote|>"One--two--three--four----" and cease at thirty-two. | he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!"<|quote|>The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily:</|quote|>"One--two--three--four----" and cease at thirty-two. And there is a... | called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!"<|quote|>The morning is grey, it was s... | of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Albert, we stand together, lean against each other, and look at one another. And we hear the number of our company called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear hi... | wheels roll beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire" comes, we bend our knees. It was summer when we came up, the trees were still green, now it is autumn and the night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused heap, a remnant of many names. On either side stand people, dark, call... | their excitement they do everything wrong. Haie Westhus drags off with a great wound in his back through which the lung pulses at every breath. I can only press his hand; "It's all up, Paul," he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their... | the word of command does what all my banging could not. Himmelstoss hears the order, looks round him as if awakened, and follows on. I come after and watch him go over. Once more he is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire... | see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulg... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: | No speaker | voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----"<|quote|>and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks:</|quote|>"Anyone else?" --and waits and | autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----"<|quote|>and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks:</|quote|>"Anyone else?" --and waits and then says softly: "In squads----" | is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!" The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----"<|quote|>and cease at thirty-... | each other, and look at one another. And we hear the number of our company called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that... | night is grey and wet. The lorries stop, we climb out--a confused heap, a remnant of many names. On either side stand people, dark, calling out the numbers of the regiments, the companies. And at each call a little group separates itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a ... | he groans and bites his arm because of the pain. We see men living with their skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to... | is the smart Himmelstoss of the parade-ground, he has even outstripped the lieutenant and is far ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades--words, words, but they hold the horror of the world. Our faces are encrusted, our thoughts are devastated, we are weary to death; wh... | their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulge his intestines; we see men without mouths, without jaws, without faces; we find one man who has held the art... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
--and waits and then says softly: | No speaker | the voice asks: "Anyone else?"<|quote|>--and waits and then says softly:</|quote|>"In squads----" and then breaks | is a long silence before the voice asks: "Anyone else?"<|quote|>--and waits and then says softly:</|quote|>"In squads----" and then breaks off and is only able | morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----" and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: "Anyone else?"<|quote|>--and waits and ... | again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!" The morning is grey, it was still summer whe... | many names. On either side stand people, dark, calling out the numbers of the regiments, the companies. And at each call a little group separates itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, ye... | skulls blown open; we see soldiers run with their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulge his intestines; we see m... | ahead. Bombardment, barrage, curtain-fire, mines, gas, tanks, machine-guns, hand-grenades--words, words, but they hold the horror of the world. Our faces are encrusted, our thoughts are devastated, we are weary to death; when the attack comes we shall have to strike many of the men with our fists to waken them and make... | explain to them that these are far more dangerous than the big ones that can be heard long beforehand. We show them how to take cover from aircraft, how to simulate a dead man when one is overrun in an attack, how to time hand-grenades so that they explode half a second before hitting the ground; we teach them to fling... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
and then breaks off and is only able to finish: | No speaker | then says softly: "In squads----"<|quote|>and then breaks off and is only able to finish:</|quote|>"Second Company----" with difficulty: "Second | "Anyone else?" --and waits and then says softly: "In squads----"<|quote|>and then breaks off and is only able to finish:</|quote|>"Second Company----" with difficulty: "Second Company--march easy!" A line, a | we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----" and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: "Anyone else?" --and waits and then says softly: "In squads----"<|quote|>and then... | time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes. Once again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!" The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred... | calling out the numbers of the regiments, the companies. And at each call a little group separates itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, h... | their two feet cut off, they stagger on their splintered stumps into the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulge his intestines; we see men without mouths, without jaws, without fac... | hand-grenades--words, words, but they hold the horror of the world. Our faces are encrusted, our thoughts are devastated, we are weary to death; when the attack comes we shall have to strike many of the men with our fists to waken them and make them come with us--our eyes are burnt, our hands are torn, our knees bleed,... | that these are far more dangerous than the big ones that can be heard long beforehand. We show them how to take cover from aircraft, how to simulate a dead man when one is overrun in an attack, how to time hand-grenades so that they explode half a second before hitting the ground; we teach them to fling themselves into... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
with difficulty: | No speaker | able to finish: "Second Company----"<|quote|>with difficulty:</|quote|>"Second Company--march easy!" A line, | breaks off and is only able to finish: "Second Company----"<|quote|>with difficulty:</|quote|>"Second Company--march easy!" A line, a short line trudges off | we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----" and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: "Anyone else?" --and waits and then says softly: "In squads----" and then breaks off and is only able to finish: "Second Company----"<|quot... | again: "Second Company, this way!" And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!" The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle... | call a little group separates itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Alber... | the next shell-hole; a lance-corporal crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulge his intestines; we see men without mouths, without jaws, without faces; we find one man who has held the artery of his arm in his teeth f... | are encrusted, our thoughts are devastated, we are weary to death; when the attack comes we shall have to strike many of the men with our fists to waken them and make them come with us--our eyes are burnt, our hands are torn, our knees bleed, our elbows are raw. How long has it been? Weeks--months--years? Only days. We... | either side stand people, dark, calling out the numbers of the regiments, the companies. And at each call a little group separates itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
A line, a short line trudges off into the morning. Thirty-two men. CHAPTER VII They have taken us farther back than usual to a field depot so that we can be re-organized. Our company needs more than a hundred reinforcements. In the meantime, when we are off duty, we loaf around. After a couple of days Himmelst... | No speaker | with difficulty: "Second Company--march easy!"<|quote|>A line, a short line trudges off into the morning. Thirty-two men. CHAPTER VII They have taken us farther back than usual to a field depot so that we can be re-organized. Our company needs more than a hundred reinforcements. In the meantime, when we are off... | able to finish: "Second Company----" with difficulty: "Second Company--march easy!"<|quote|>A line, a short line trudges off into the morning. Thirty-two men. CHAPTER VII They have taken us farther back than usual to a field depot so that we can be re-organized. Our company needs more than a hundred reinforcemen... | the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "One--two--three--four----" and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: "Anyone else?" --and waits and then says softly: "In squads----" and then breaks off and is only able to finish: "Second Company----" with difficulty: "Second Compa... | And then more softly: "Nobody else Second Company?" He is silent, and then huskily he says: "Is that all?" and gives the order: "Number!" The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: "... | itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant. Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the Company-Commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Albert, we stand together, lean aga... | crawls a mile and a half on his hands dragging his smashed knee after him; another goes to the dressing station and over his clasped hands bulge his intestines; we see men without mouths, without jaws, without faces; we find one man who has held the artery of his arm in his teeth for two hours in order not to bleed to ... | devastated, we are weary to death; when the attack comes we shall have to strike many of the men with our fists to waken them and make them come with us--our eyes are burnt, our hands are torn, our knees bleed, our elbows are raw. How long has it been? Weeks--months--years? Only days. We see time pass in the colourless... | 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. * * We have been relieved. The wheels roll beneath us, we stand dully, and when the call "Mind--wire" comes, we bend our knees. It ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," | Paul | should be; we feel excited.<|quote|>"Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those,"</|quote|>I say, and then begin | time, that is as it should be; we feel excited.<|quote|>"Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those,"</|quote|>I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it | a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited.<|quote|>"Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't m... | for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such thin... | With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle s... | maintain our own resistance. But we do not forget. It's all rot that they put in the war-news about the good humour of the troops, how they are arranging dances almost before they are out of the front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to... | up to the trenches again. We forget nothing really. But so long as we have to stay here in the field, the front-line days, when they are past, sink down in us like a stone; they are too serious for us to be able to reflect on them at once. If we did that, we should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this mu... | on a hoarding. With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. | No speaker | march many miles in those,"<|quote|>I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching.</|quote|>"How old would she be?" | thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those,"<|quote|>I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching.</|quote|>"How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at | even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those,"<|quote|>I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it i... | nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like ... | credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-... | put in the war-news about the good humour of the troops, how they are arranging dances almost before they are out of the front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour b... | have to stay here in the field, the front-line days, when they are past, sink down in us like a stone; they are too serious for us to be able to reflect on them at once. If we did that, we should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much:--terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks;--but it kill... | up again and march with us, our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose, and so we shall march, our dead comrades beside us, the years at the Front behind us:--against whom, against whom? * * Some time ago there was an army theatre in these parts. Coloured posters of the performances are still sticking on a hoard... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"How old would she be?" | Kropp | think of nothing but marching.<|quote|>"How old would she be?"</|quote|>Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at | a picture like this and think of nothing but marching.<|quote|>"How old would she be?"</|quote|>Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then | that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching.<|quote|>"How old would she be?"</|quote|>Kropp asks. "About twenty-t... | us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those t... | on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, ... | like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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... | to be able to reflect on them at once. If we did that, we should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much:--terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us... | we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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. The days, the weeks, the years out here sha... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Kropp asks. | No speaker | "How old would she be?"<|quote|>Kropp asks.</|quote|>"About twenty-two at the most," | think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?"<|quote|>Kropp asks.</|quote|>"About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would | be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?"<|quote|>Kropp asks.</|quote|>"About twenty-two at the most," I ha... | on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she c... | the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes t... | in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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, a... | on them at once. If we did that, we should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much:--terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we... | all rot that they put in the war-news about the good humour of the troops, how they are arranging dances almost before they are out of the front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much lo... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"About twenty-two at the most," | Paul | would she be?" Kropp asks.<|quote|>"About twenty-two at the most,"</|quote|>I hazard. "Then she would | nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks.<|quote|>"About twenty-two at the most,"</|quote|>I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She | feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks.<|quote|>"About twenty-two at the most,"</|quote|>I hazard. "... | poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't... | she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day... | good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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 th... | at once. If we did that, we should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much:--terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn in... | of the front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. And this I know: all these things that now, while we are still in the war, sink do... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I hazard. | No speaker | "About twenty-two at the most,"<|quote|>I hazard.</|quote|>"Then she would be older | would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most,"<|quote|>I hazard.</|quote|>"Then she would be older than us! She is not | those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most,"<|quote|>I hazard.</|quote|>"Then she would be older than... | us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in t... | She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt... | a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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 dise... | that, we should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much:--terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers... | backs upon it; we make grim, coarse jests about it, when a man dies, then we say he had nipped off his turd, and so we speak of everything; that keeps us from going mad; as long as we take it that way we maintain our own resistance. But we do not forget. It's all rot that they put in the war-news about the good humour ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" | Kropp | at the most," I hazard.<|quote|>"Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!"</|quote|>It gives us goose-flesh. "That | be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard.<|quote|>"Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!"</|quote|>It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what | shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard.<|quote|>"Then she would be older than us! She is not mor... | have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," ... | white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her... | humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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 disentangle... | should have been destroyed long ago. I soon found out this much:--terror can be endured so long as a man simply ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we ... | them, they have their rest--and who knows what is waiting for us? We will make ourselves comfortable and sleep, and eat as much as we can stuff into our bellies, and drink and smoke so that the hours are not wasted. Life is short. * * The terror of the front sinks deep down when we turn our backs upon it; we make grim,... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
It gives us goose-flesh. | No speaker | seventeen, let me tell you!"<|quote|>It gives us goose-flesh.</|quote|>"That would be good, Albert, | She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!"<|quote|>It gives us goose-flesh.</|quote|>"That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He | for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!"<|quote|>It gives us goose-flesh.</|quote|>"That would be good, A... | have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like thi... | with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a... | out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again... | as a man simply ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. We want to live at any price; ... | Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" | Paul | you!" It gives us goose-flesh.<|quote|>"That would be good, Albert, what do you think?"</|quote|>He nods. "I have some | than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh.<|quote|>"That would be good, Albert, what do you think?"</|quote|>He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." | to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh.<|quote|>"That would be good, Albert, what do you think?"... | it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing ... | side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's ... | humour becomes more bitter every month. 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. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrad... | ducks;--but it kills, if a man thinks about it. Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. We want to live at any price; so we cannot bur... | in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
He nods. | No speaker | Albert, what do you think?"<|quote|>He nods.</|quote|>"I have some white trousers | goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?"<|quote|>He nods.</|quote|>"I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," | and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?"<|quote|>He nods.</|quote|>"I have some white tro... | and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "Ab... | girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. Th... | 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. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our... | Just as we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. We want to live at any price; so we cannot burden ourselves with feelings which, though they m... | we speak of everything; that keeps us from going mad; as long as we take it that way we maintain our own resistance. But we do not forget. It's all rot that they put in the war-news about the good humour of the troops, how they are arranging dances almost before they are out of the front-line. We don't act like that be... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"I have some white trousers at home too." | Kropp | do you think?" He nods.<|quote|>"I have some white trousers at home too."</|quote|>"White trousers," say I, "but | would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods.<|quote|>"I have some white trousers at home too."</|quote|>"White trousers," say I, "but a girl like that----" We | of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods.<|quote|>"I have some white trousers at home too."... | That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twent... | a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on ... | 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. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our heads sha... | we turn into animals when we go up to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. We want to live at any price; so we cannot burden ourselves with feelings which, though they might be ... | of the performances are still sticking on a hoarding. With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. Sh... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"White trousers," | Paul | white trousers at home too."<|quote|>"White trousers,"</|quote|>say I, "but a girl | He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too."<|quote|>"White trousers,"</|quote|>say I, "but a girl like that----" We look askance | be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too."<|quote|>"White trousers,"</|quote|>say I, "but a gi... | should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "The... | wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite f... | 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. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose, and ... | to the line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. We want to live at any price; so we cannot burden ourselves with feelings which, though they might be ornamental enough in peace time, wo... | a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wonderfully clean and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
say I, | No speaker | at home too." "White trousers,"<|quote|>say I,</|quote|>"but a girl like that----" | "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers,"<|quote|>say I,</|quote|>"but a girl like that----" We look askance at one | asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers,"<|quote|>say I,</|quote|>"but a girl like tha... | we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would... | and well cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that ther... | war, sink down in us like a stone, after the war shall waken again, and then shall begin the disentanglement of life and death. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose, and so we s... | line, because that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. 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 ... | the war-news about the good humour of the troops, how they are arranging dances almost before they are out of the front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"but a girl like that----" | Paul | too." "White trousers," say I,<|quote|>"but a girl like that----"</|quote|>We look askance at one | some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," say I,<|quote|>"but a girl like that----"</|quote|>We look askance at one another. There's not much to | twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," say I,<|quote|>"but a girl like that----"</|quote|>We loo... | excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be olde... | cared for, she certainly bathes twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are suc... | down in us like a stone, after the war shall waken again, and then shall begin the disentanglement of life and death. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose, and so we shall march... | that is the only thing which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. 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 h... | humour of the troops, how they are arranging dances almost before they are out of the front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. And... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. | No speaker | "but a girl like that----"<|quote|>We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it.</|... | too." "White trousers," say I, "but a girl like that----"<|quote|>We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. T... | hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," say I, "but a girl like that----"<|quote|>We look askance at one another. There's n... | thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more t... | twice a day and never has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly... | stone, after the war shall waken again, and then shall begin the disentanglement of life and death. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose, and so we shall march, our dead comrade... | which brings us through safely, so we turn into wags and loafers when we are out resting. We can do nothing else, it is a sheer necessity. 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. Kemmerich is dead,... | that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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 ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"We could go and get deloused, anyway," | Kropp | That is something towards it.<|quote|>"We could go and get deloused, anyway,"</|quote|>Kropp then suggests. I am | not to damage the girl. That is something towards it.<|quote|>"We could go and get deloused, anyway,"</|quote|>Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it | We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it.<|quote|>"We could go and get deloused... | hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," say I, "but a girl like that----" We look askance at one another. There's not much ... | We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those... | a purpose, and so we shall march, our dead comrades beside us, the years at the Front behind us:--against whom, against whom? * * Some time ago there was an army theatre in these parts. Coloured posters of the performances are still sticking on a hoarding. With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly ... | time, would be out of place here. Kemmerich is dead, Haie Westhus is dying, they will have a job with Hans Kramer's body at the Judgment Day, piecing it together after a direct hit; Martens has no legs any more, Meyer is dead, Max is dead, Beyer is dead, Hammerling is dead, there are a hundred and twenty wounded men ly... | her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther. | No speaker | go and get deloused, anyway,"<|quote|>Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther.</|quote|>"We might see if we | something towards it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway,"<|quote|>Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther.</|quote|>"We mi... | not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway,"<|quote|>Kropp then suggests. I am not ve... | us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," say I, "but a girl like that----" We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, ... | such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We have seen nothing like it for years, nothing like it for happiness, beauty, and joy. That is peace time, that is as it should be; we feel excited. "Just look at those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly,... | our dead comrades beside us, the years at the Front behind us:--against whom, against whom? * * Some time ago there was an army theatre in these parts. Coloured posters of the performances are still sticking on a hoarding. With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exis... | Kemmerich is dead, Haie Westhus is dying, they will have a job with Hans Kramer's body at the Judgment Day, piecing it together after a direct hit; Martens has no legs any more, Meyer is dead, Max is dead, Beyer is dead, Hammerling is dead, there are a hundred and twenty wounded men lying somewhere or other; it is a da... | shall begin the disentanglement of life and death. The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us, our heads shall be clear, we shall have a purpose, and so we shall march, our dead comrades beside us, the years at the Front behind us:--a... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----" | Paul | willing. I even go farther.<|quote|>"We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----"</|quote|>"Socks might be better," says | once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther.<|quote|>"We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----"</|quote|>"Socks might be better," says Albert, not without reason. "Yes, | it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway," Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther.<|quote|>"We might see if we could get a c... | that----" We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We could go and get delous... | those thin shoes though, she couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not ... | Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high ... | Hammerling is dead, there are a hundred and twenty wounded men lying somewhere or other; it is a damnable business, but what has it to do with us now--we live. If it were possible for us to save them, then it would be seen how much we cared--we would have a shot at it though we went under ourselves; for we can be damne... | front-line. We don't act like that because we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. And this I know: all these things that now, while we are still in the war, sink down in u... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Socks might be better," | Kropp | a clean shirt as well----"<|quote|>"Socks might be better,"</|quote|>says Albert, not without reason. | see if we could get a clean shirt as well----"<|quote|>"Socks might be better,"</|quote|>says Albert, not without reason. "Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's | am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther. "We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----"<|quote|>"Socks might be better,"</|quote|>says Albert,... | of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway," Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it... | say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "Tha... | that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses,... | somewhere or other; it is a damnable business, but what has it to do with us now--we live. If it were possible for us to save them, then it would be seen how much we cared--we would have a shot at it though we went under ourselves; for we can be damned quixotic when we like; fear we do not know much about--terror of de... | couldn't march many miles in those," I say, and then begin to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me t... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
says Albert, not without reason. | No speaker | well----" "Socks might be better,"<|quote|>says Albert, not without reason.</|quote|>"Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's | get a clean shirt as well----" "Socks might be better,"<|quote|>says Albert, not without reason.</|quote|>"Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and explore a bit." | because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther. "We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----" "Socks might be better,"<|quote|>says Albert, not without reason.</|quote|>"Yes... | and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway," Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any ... | to feel silly, for it is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Alb... | exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a brigh... | is a damnable business, but what has it to do with us now--we live. If it were possible for us to save them, then it would be seen how much we cared--we would have a shot at it though we went under ourselves; for we can be damned quixotic when we like; fear we do not know much about--terror of death, yes; but that is a... | With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle s... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and explore a bit." | Paul | says Albert, not without reason.<|quote|>"Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and explore a bit."</|quote|>Then Leer and Tjaden stroll | well----" "Socks might be better," says Albert, not without reason.<|quote|>"Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and explore a bit."</|quote|>Then Leer and Tjaden stroll up; they look at the | clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther. "We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----" "Socks might be better," says Albert, not without reason.<|quote|>"Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and ex... | hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway," Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy ag... | is absurd to stand in front of a picture like this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think... | light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lov... | what has it to do with us now--we live. If it were possible for us to save them, then it would be seen how much we cared--we would have a shot at it though we went under ourselves; for we can be damned quixotic when we like; fear we do not know much about--terror of death, yes; but that is a different matter, that is p... | time ago there was an army theatre in these parts. Coloured posters of the performances are still sticking on a hoarding. With wide eyes Kropp and I stand in front of it. We can hardly credit that such things still exist. A girl in a light summer dress, with a red patent-leather belt about her hips! She is standing wit... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Then Leer and Tjaden stroll up; they look at the poster and immediately the conversation becomes smutty. Leer was the first of our class to have intercourse, and he gave stirring details of it. After his fashion he enjoys himself over the picture, and Tjaden supports him nobly. It does not distress us exactly. Who i... | No speaker | go and explore a bit."<|quote|>Then Leer and Tjaden stroll up; they look at the poster and immediately the conversation becomes smutty. Leer was the first of our class to have intercourse, and he gave stirring details of it. After his fashion he enjoys himself over the picture, and Tjaden supports him nobly. It does ... | "Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and explore a bit."<|quote|>Then Leer and Tjaden stroll up; they look at the poster and immediately the conversation becomes smutty. Leer was the first of our class to have intercourse, and he gave stirring details of it. After his fashion he enjoys himself over the picture, and Tjad... | two hours. But when we have considered the picture once more, I declare myself willing. I even go farther. "We might see if we could get a clean shirt as well----" "Socks might be better," says Albert, not without reason. "Yes, socks too perhaps. Let's go and explore a bit."<|quote|>Then Leer and Tjaden stroll up; the... | man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We could go and get deloused, anyway," Kropp then suggests. I am not very enthusiastic because it doesn't do one's clothes any good and a man is lousy again inside two hours. But when we have considered th... | this and think of nothing but marching. "How old would she be?" Kropp asks. "About twenty-two at the most," I hazard. "Then she would be older than us! She is not more than seventeen, let me tell you!" It gives us goose-flesh. "That would be good, Albert, what do you think?" He nods. "I have some white trousers at hom... | hips! She is standing with one hand on a railing and with the other she holds a straw hat. She wears white stockings and white shoes, fine buckle shoes with high heels. Behind her smiles a blue lake with white-horses, at the side is a bright bay. She is a lovely girl with a delicate nose, red lips, and slender legs, wo... | it were possible for us to save them, then it would be seen how much we cared--we would have a shot at it though we went under ourselves; for we can be damned quixotic when we like; fear we do not know much about--terror of death, yes; but that is a different matter, that is physical. But our comrades are dead, we cann... | we are in a good humour: we are in a good humour because otherwise we should go to pieces. If it were not so we could not hold out much longer; our humour becomes more bitter every month. 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 a... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Eagerly we assure them that we will bring some with us. And other tasty bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise them a whole quartermaster's store. They go off and frequently turn and look back. We climb ... | No speaker | The blonde girl twitters: "Bread--good----"<|quote|>Eagerly we assure them that we will bring some with us. And other tasty bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise them a whole quartermaster's store. They ... | slim brunette does a two-step. The blonde girl twitters: "Bread--good----"<|quote|>Eagerly we assure them that we will bring some with us. And other tasty bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise them a whol... | We call out to them that we would like to come, sometime when the guards cannot see us. At night. To-night. They raise their hands, put them together, rest their faces on them and shut their eyes. They understand. The slim brunette does a two-step. The blonde girl twitters: "Bread--good----"<|quote|>Eagerly we assure t... | slowly down the canal, keeping along the tow-path all the way. We accompany them swimming. After a few hundred yards they turn off and point to a house that stands a little distance away among the trees and shrubbery. Leer asks if they live there. They laugh--sure, that's their house. We call out to them that we would ... | things we cannot understand; we laugh and beckon. Tjaden is more crafty. He runs into the house, gets a loaf of army bread and holds it up. That produces a great effect. They nod and beckon us to come over. But we don't dare to do that. It is forbidden to cross to the opposite bank. There are sentries on all the bridge... | off to the delousing station with the same feeling as if it were a swell gentlemen's outfitters. * * The houses in which we are billeted lie near the canal. On the other side of the canal there are ponds flanked with poplars;--on the other side of the canal there are women too. The houses on our side have been abandone... | has any dirt under her nails. At most perhaps a bit of sand from the beach. Beside her stands a man in white trousers, a bluejacket, and sailor's cap; but he interests us much less. The girl on the poster is a wonder to us. We have quite forgotten that there are such things, and even now we hardly believe our eyes. We ... | side have been abandoned. On the other side though one occasionally sees inhabitants. In the evening we go swimming. Three women come strolling along the bank. They walk slowly and don't look away, although we have no bathing suits. Leer calls out to them. They laugh and stop to watch us. We fling remarks at them in br... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too." | Kropp | countless cigarettes, until Kropp says:<|quote|>"We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too."</|quote|>So we put some inside | hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp says:<|quote|>"We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too."</|quote|>So we put some inside our caps to keep them. | is beer and a kind of punch. We drink punch and tell one another lying tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story, only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a taller one. Our hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp says:<|quote|>"We might as well take them a co... | house for they might easily have been lying. Then we swim back. No one can cross the bridge without leave, so we will simply have to swim over at night. We are full of excitement. We cannot last out without a drink, so we go to the canteen where there is beer and a kind of punch. We drink punch and tell one another lyi... | together, rest their faces on them and shut their eyes. They understand. The slim brunette does a two-step. The blonde girl twitters: "Bread--good----" Eagerly we assure them that we will bring some with us. And other tasty bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demo... | very jovial and do our best to interest them so that they will stay. We try to make jokes and they answer with things we cannot understand; we laugh and beckon. Tjaden is more crafty. He runs into the house, gets a loaf of army bread and holds it up. That produces a great effect. They nod and beckon us to come over. Bu... | nods. "I have some white trousers at home too." "White trousers," say I, "but a girl like that----" We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taki... | billeted lie near the canal. On the other side of the canal there are ponds flanked with poplars;--on the other side of the canal there are women too. The houses on our side have been abandoned. On the other side though one occasionally sees inhabitants. In the evening we go swimming. Three women come strolling along t... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
So we put some inside our caps to keep them. The sky turns apple-green. There are four of us, but only three can go; we must shake off Tjaden, so ply him with rum and punch until he rocks. As it turns dark we go to our billets, Tjaden in the centre. We are all glowing and full of a lust for adventure. The little br... | No speaker | a couple of cigarettes too."<|quote|>So we put some inside our caps to keep them. The sky turns apple-green. There are four of us, but only three can go; we must shake off Tjaden, so ply him with rum and punch until he rocks. As it turns dark we go to our billets, Tjaden in the centre. We are all glowing and full of... | might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too."<|quote|>So we put some inside our caps to keep them. The sky turns apple-green. There are four of us, but only three can go; we must shake off Tjaden, so ply him with rum and punch until he rocks. As it turns dark we go to our billets, Tjaden in the centre. We are... | tell one another lying tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story, only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a taller one. Our hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp says: "We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too."<|quote|>So we put some inside o... | back. No one can cross the bridge without leave, so we will simply have to swim over at night. We are full of excitement. We cannot last out without a drink, so we go to the canteen where there is beer and a kind of punch. We drink punch and tell one another lying tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the ... | understand. The slim brunette does a two-step. The blonde girl twitters: "Bread--good----" Eagerly we assure them that we will bring some with us. And other tasty bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise the... | they will stay. We try to make jokes and they answer with things we cannot understand; we laugh and beckon. Tjaden is more crafty. He runs into the house, gets a loaf of army bread and holds it up. That produces a great effect. They nod and beckon us to come over. But we don't dare to do that. It is forbidden to cross ... | say I, "but a girl like that----" We look askance at one another. There's not much to boast of here--two ragged, stained, and dirty uniforms. It is hopeless to compete. So we proceed to tear the young man with the white trousers off the hoarding, taking care not to damage the girl. That is something towards it. "We... | and march off to the delousing station with the same feeling as if it were a swell gentlemen's outfitters. * * The houses in which we are billeted lie near the canal. On the other side of the canal there are ponds flanked with poplars;--on the other side of the canal there are women too. The houses on our side have bee... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates: | No speaker | skins his elbows. "No matter,"<|quote|>he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates:</|quote|>"What if there's a Major | trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter,"<|quote|>he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates:</|quote|>"What if there's a Major in with them?" "Then we | and put on our boots. We put the things under our arms. And so, all wet and naked, clothed only in our boots, we break into a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter,"<|quote|>he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house an... | it is not far and quite dark. We make off with our boots in our hands. Swiftly we slip into the water, lie on our backs and swim, holding the boots with their contents up over our heads. We climb out carefully on the opposite bank, take out the packages and put on our boots. We put the things under our arms. And so, al... | that we have given him the punch to no purpose. Then he drops back again and sleeps on. We each get hold of a whole army loaf and wrap it up in newspaper. The cigarettes we put in too, as well as three good rations of liver-sausage that were issued to us this evening. That makes a decent present. We stow the things car... | cross the bridge without leave, so we will simply have to swim over at night. We are full of excitement. We cannot last out without a drink, so we go to the canteen where there is beer and a kind of punch. We drink punch and tell one another lying tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story... | have no bathing suits. Leer calls out to them. They laugh and stop to watch us. We fling remarks at them in broken French, anything that comes into our heads, hastily and all jumbled together, anything to detain them. They are not specially wonderful pieces, but then where are such to be had about here? There is one sl... | stands a little distance away among the trees and shrubbery. Leer asks if they live there. They laugh--sure, that's their house. We call out to them that we would like to come, sometime when the guards cannot see us. At night. To-night. They raise their hands, put them together, rest their faces on them and shut their ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"What if there's a Major in with them?" | Kropp | grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates:<|quote|>"What if there's a Major in with them?"</|quote|>"Then we just clear off," | through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates:<|quote|>"What if there's a Major in with them?"</|quote|>"Then we just clear off," grins Leer, "he can try | a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates:<|quote|>"What if there's a Major in with them?... | and swim, holding the boots with their contents up over our heads. We climb out carefully on the opposite bank, take out the packages and put on our boots. We put the things under our arms. And so, all wet and naked, clothed only in our boots, we break into a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Le... | loaf and wrap it up in newspaper. The cigarettes we put in too, as well as three good rations of liver-sausage that were issued to us this evening. That makes a decent present. We stow the things carefully in our boots; we have to take them to protect our feet against treading on wire and broken glass on the other bank... | drink, so we go to the canteen where there is beer and a kind of punch. We drink punch and tell one another lying tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story, only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a taller one. Our hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp say... | comes into our heads, hastily and all jumbled together, anything to detain them. They are not specially wonderful pieces, but then where are such to be had about here? There is one slim little brunette. Her teeth gleam when she laughs. She has quick movements, her dress swings loosely about her legs. Although the water... | bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise them a whole quartermaster's store. They go off and frequently turn and look back. We climb out on the bank on our side of the canal and watch to see whether they go in... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
grins Leer, | No speaker | "Then we just clear off,"<|quote|>grins Leer,</|quote|>"he can try to read | a Major in with them?" "Then we just clear off,"<|quote|>grins Leer,</|quote|>"he can try to read our regimental numbers here," and | Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates: "What if there's a Major in with them?" "Then we just clear off,"<|quote|>grins Leer,</|quote|>"he can try... | climb out carefully on the opposite bank, take out the packages and put on our boots. We put the things under our arms. And so, all wet and naked, clothed only in our boots, we break into a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily.... | as well as three good rations of liver-sausage that were issued to us this evening. That makes a decent present. We stow the things carefully in our boots; we have to take them to protect our feet against treading on wire and broken glass on the other bank. As we must swim for it we can take no other clothes. But it is... | kind of punch. We drink punch and tell one another lying tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story, only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a taller one. Our hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp says: "We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too... | They are not specially wonderful pieces, but then where are such to be had about here? There is one slim little brunette. Her teeth gleam when she laughs. She has quick movements, her dress swings loosely about her legs. Although the water is cold we are very jovial and do our best to interest them so that they will st... | man's story, only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a taller one. Our hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp says: "We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too." So we put some inside our caps to keep them. The sky turns apple-green. There are four of us, but only three can ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
and smacks his behind. The door of the court-yard stands open. Our boots make a great clatter. The house door opens, a chink of light shines through and a woman cries out in a scared voice. | No speaker | read our regimental numbers here,"<|quote|>and smacks his behind. The door of the court-yard stands open. Our boots make a great clatter. The house door opens, a chink of light shines through and a woman cries out in a scared voice.</|quote|>"Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--" we | Leer, "he can try to read our regimental numbers here,"<|quote|>and smacks his behind. The door of the court-yard stands open. Our boots make a great clatter. The house door opens, a chink of light shines through and a woman cries out in a scared voice.</|quote|>"Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--" we say, and show our p... | he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates: "What if there's a Major in with them?" "Then we just clear off," grins Leer, "he can try to read our regimental numbers here,"<|quote|>and smacks his behind. The ... | and put on our boots. We put the things under our arms. And so, all wet and naked, clothed only in our boots, we break into a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to... | to us this evening. That makes a decent present. We stow the things carefully in our boots; we have to take them to protect our feet against treading on wire and broken glass on the other bank. As we must swim for it we can take no other clothes. But it is not far and quite dark. We make off with our boots in our hands... | tales of our experiences. Each man gladly believes the other man's story, only waiting impatiently till he can cap it with a taller one. Our hands are fidgety, we smoke countless cigarettes, until Kropp says: "We might as well take them a couple of cigarettes too." So we put some inside our caps to keep them. The sky ... | to be had about here? There is one slim little brunette. Her teeth gleam when she laughs. She has quick movements, her dress swings loosely about her legs. Although the water is cold we are very jovial and do our best to interest them so that they will stay. We try to make jokes and they answer with things we cannot un... | hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise them a whole quartermaster's store. They go off and frequently turn and look back. We climb out on the bank on our side of the canal and watch to see whether they go into the house for they might easily have been lying. The... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
we say, and show our packages protestingly. The other two are now on the scene, the door opens wide and the light floods over us. They recognize us and all three burst into laughter at our appearance. They rock and sway in the doorway, they laugh so much. How supple their movements are! | No speaker | voice. "Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--"<|quote|>we say, and show our packages protestingly. The other two are now on the scene, the door opens wide and the light floods over us. They recognize us and all three burst into laughter at our appearance. They rock and sway in the doorway, they laugh so much. How supple th... | cries out in a scared voice. "Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--"<|quote|>we say, and show our packages protestingly. The other two are now on the scene, the door opens wide and the light floods over us. They recognize us and all three burst into laughter at our appearance. They rock and sway in the doorway, they laugh s... | Leer, "he can try to read our regimental numbers here," and smacks his behind. The door of the court-yard stands open. Our boots make a great clatter. The house door opens, a chink of light shines through and a woman cries out in a scared voice. "Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--"<|quote|>we say, and show our packages p... | trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates: "What if there's a Major in with them?" "Then we just clear off," grins Leer, "he can try to read our regimenta... | swim for it we can take no other clothes. But it is not far and quite dark. We make off with our boots in our hands. Swiftly we slip into the water, lie on our backs and swim, holding the boots with their contents up over our heads. We climb out carefully on the opposite bank, take out the packages and put on our boots... | them a couple of cigarettes too." So we put some inside our caps to keep them. The sky turns apple-green. There are four of us, but only three can go; we must shake off Tjaden, so ply him with rum and punch until he rocks. As it turns dark we go to our billets, Tjaden in the centre. We are all glowing and full of a ... | best to interest them so that they will stay. We try to make jokes and they answer with things we cannot understand; we laugh and beckon. Tjaden is more crafty. He runs into the house, gets a loaf of army bread and holds it up. That produces a great effect. They nod and beckon us to come over. But we don't dare to do t... | trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promise them a whole quartermaster's store. They go off and frequently turn and look back. We climb out on the bank on our side of the canal and watch to see whether they go into the house for they might easily have been lying. Then we swim back. No one can... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
They disappear and throw us bits of clothing which we gladly wrap round ourselves. Then we venture in. A small lamp burns in the room, which is warm and smells a little of perfume. We unwrap our parcels and hand them over to the women. Their eyes shine, it is obvious that they are hungry. Then we all become rather... | No speaker | their movements are! "Un moment--"<|quote|>They disappear and throw us bits of clothing which we gladly wrap round ourselves. Then we venture in. A small lamp burns in the room, which is warm and smells a little of perfume. We unwrap our parcels and hand them over to the women. Their eyes shine, it is obvious that ... | laugh so much. How supple their movements are! "Un moment--"<|quote|>They disappear and throw us bits of clothing which we gladly wrap round ourselves. Then we venture in. A small lamp burns in the room, which is warm and smells a little of perfume. We unwrap our parcels and hand them over to the women. Their eyes ... | packages protestingly. The other two are now on the scene, the door opens wide and the light floods over us. They recognize us and all three burst into laughter at our appearance. They rock and sway in the doorway, they laugh so much. How supple their movements are! "Un moment--"<|quote|>They disappear and throw us bit... | read our regimental numbers here," and smacks his behind. The door of the court-yard stands open. Our boots make a great clatter. The house door opens, a chink of light shines through and a woman cries out in a scared voice. "Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--" we say, and show our packages protestingly. The other two a... | bank, take out the packages and put on our boots. We put the things under our arms. And so, all wet and naked, clothed only in our boots, we break into a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We sli... | in the centre. We are all glowing and full of a lust for adventure. The little brunette is mine, we settled that by cutting for her. Tjaden drops on his sack of straw and snores. Once he wakes up and grins so craftily that we are alarmed and begin to think he is cheating, and that we have given him the punch to no purp... | to come over. But we don't dare to do that. It is forbidden to cross to the opposite bank. There are sentries on all the bridges. It's impossible without a pass. So we indicate that they should come over to us; but they shake their heads and point to the bridge. They are not allowed to pass either. They turn away and w... | us, but only three can go; we must shake off Tjaden, so ply him with rum and punch until he rocks. As it turns dark we go to our billets, Tjaden in the centre. We are all glowing and full of a lust for adventure. The little brunette is mine, we settled that by cutting for her. Tjaden drops on his sack of straw and snor... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I hold her arm tightly and press my lips into the palm of her hand. Her fingers close round my face. Close above me are her bewildering eyes, the soft brown of her skin and her red lips. Her mouth speaks words I do not understand. Nor do I fully understand her eyes; they seem to say more than we anticipated when we ... | No speaker | say: "La guerre--grand malheur--pauvres garçons----"<|quote|>I hold her arm tightly and press my lips into the palm of her hand. Her fingers close round my face. Close above me are her bewildering eyes, the soft brown of her skin and her red lips. Her mouth speaks words I do not understand. Nor do I fully understand... | what all the French women say: "La guerre--grand malheur--pauvres garçons----"<|quote|>I hold her arm tightly and press my lips into the palm of her hand. Her fingers close round my face. Close above me are her bewildering eyes, the soft brown of her skin and her red lips. Her mouth speaks words I do not understand. ... | it, and we sit proudly by. They overwhelm us with their chatter;--we understand very little of it, but we listen and the words sound friendly. No doubt we all look very young. The little brunette strokes my hair and says what all the French women say: "La guerre--grand malheur--pauvres garçons----"<|quote|>I hold her a... | obvious that they are hungry. Then we all become rather embarrassed. Leer makes the gestures of eating, and then they come to life again and bring out plates and knives and fall to on the food, and they hold up every slice of liver-sausage and admire it before they eat it, and we sit proudly by. They overwhelm us with ... | packages protestingly. The other two are now on the scene, the door opens wide and the light floods over us. They recognize us and all three burst into laughter at our appearance. They rock and sway in the doorway, they laugh so much. How supple their movements are! "Un moment--" They disappear and throw us bits of clo... | take no other clothes. But it is not far and quite dark. We make off with our boots in our hands. Swiftly we slip into the water, lie on our backs and swim, holding the boots with their contents up over our heads. We climb out carefully on the opposite bank, take out the packages and put on our boots. We put the things... | They understand. The slim brunette does a two-step. The blonde girl twitters: "Bread--good----" Eagerly we assure them that we will bring some with us. And other tasty bits too, we roll our eyes and try to explain with our hands. Leer nearly drowns trying to demonstrate a sausage. If it were necessary we would promis... | clothed only in our boots, we break into a trot. We find the house at once. It lies among the trees. Leer trips over a root and skins his elbows. "No matter," he says gaily. The windows are shuttered. We slip round the house and try to peer through the cracks. Then we grow impatient. Suddenly Kropp hesitates: "What... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
says Leer. I cannot trust myself to speak, I am not in the least happy. Then we hear footsteps and dodge behind a shrub. The steps come nearer, close by us. We see a naked soldier, in boots, just like ourselves; he has a package under his arm, and gallops onward. It is Tjaden in full course. He has disappeared al... | No speaker | "That was worth a ration-loaf,"<|quote|>says Leer. I cannot trust myself to speak, I am not in the least happy. Then we hear footsteps and dodge behind a shrub. The steps come nearer, close by us. We see a naked soldier, in boots, just like ourselves; he has a package under his arm, and gallops onward. It is Tjade... | one another with long strides. "That was worth a ration-loaf,"<|quote|>says Leer. I cannot trust myself to speak, I am not in the least happy. Then we hear footsteps and dodge behind a shrub. The steps come nearer, close by us. We see a naked soldier, in boots, just like ourselves; he has a package under his arm, a... | and take our leave warmly. The night air cools our hot bodies. The rustling poplars loom large in the darkness. The moon floats in the heavens and in the waters of the canal. We do not run, we walk beside one another with long strides. "That was worth a ration-loaf,"<|quote|>says Leer. I cannot trust myself to speak, ... | my life depends on winning her. And if I press ever deeper into the arms that embrace me, perhaps a miracle may happen.... . . . . . . . . So, after a time we find ourselves reassembled again. Leer is in high spirits. We pull on our boots and take our leave warmly. The night air cools our hot bodies. The rustling popla... | we are allowed to go, and where we have to wait in long queues. I wish I never thought of them; but desire turns my mind to them involuntarily and I am afraid, for it might be impossible ever to be free of them again. But then I feel the lips of the little brunette and press myself against them, my eyes close and I let... | what may--yet, in spite of all, I feel somewhat afraid. The little brunette contracts her brows when she is thinking; but when she talks they are still. And often the sound does not quite become a word but suffocates or floats away over me half-finished; an arch, a pathway, a comet. What have I known of it--what do I k... | opens, a chink of light shines through and a woman cries out in a scared voice. "Ssh, ssh! camerade--bon ami--" we say, and show our packages protestingly. The other two are now on the scene, the door opens wide and the light floods over us. They recognize us and all three burst into laughter at our appearance. They... | here that a man can hold on to. We have left our boots at the door, they have given us slippers instead, and now nothing remains to recall for me the assurance and self-confidence of the soldier: no rifle, no belt, no tunic, no cap. I let myself drop into the unknown, come what may--yet, in spite of all, I feel somewha... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"If you are smart, you'll hang on to it." | Katczinsky | try to get a base-job.<|quote|>"If you are smart, you'll hang on to it."</|quote|>I would rather not have | tells me I ought to try to get a base-job.<|quote|>"If you are smart, you'll hang on to it."</|quote|>I would rather not have gone for another eight days; | I see that I am not to return to the front immediately. After my leave I have to report for a course of training to a camp on the moors. The others congratulate me. Kat gives me good advice, and tells me I ought to try to get a base-job.<|quote|>"If you are smart, you'll hang on to it."</|quote|>I would rather not have... | leave-pass and a travel-pass and wishes me a good journey. I look to see how much leave I have got. Seventeen days--fourteen days leave and three days for travelling. It is not enough and I ask whether I cannot have five days for travelling. Bertinck points to my pass. There I see that I am not to return to the front i... | strides. "That was worth a ration-loaf," says Leer. I cannot trust myself to speak, I am not in the least happy. Then we hear footsteps and dodge behind a shrub. The steps come nearer, close by us. We see a naked soldier, in boots, just like ourselves; he has a package under his arm, and gallops onward. It is Tjad... | in the soldier's brothels, to which we are allowed to go, and where we have to wait in long queues. I wish I never thought of them; but desire turns my mind to them involuntarily and I am afraid, for it might be impossible ever to be free of them again. But then I feel the lips of the little brunette and press myself a... | listen and the words sound friendly. No doubt we all look very young. The little brunette strokes my hair and says what all the French women say: "La guerre--grand malheur--pauvres garçons----" I hold her arm tightly and press my lips into the palm of her hand. Her fingers close round my face. Close above me are her b... | and terror and grossness, in order to awaken young and happy; I think of the picture of the girl on the poster and, for a moment, believe that my life depends on winning her. And if I press ever deeper into the arms that embrace me, perhaps a miracle may happen.... . . . . . . . . So, after a time we find ourselves rea... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I would rather not have gone for another eight days; we are to stay here that much longer and it is good here. Naturally I have to stand the others drinks at the canteen. We are all a little bit drunk. I become gloomy: I will be away for six weeks-- That is lucky of course, but what may happen before I get back? S... | No speaker | you'll hang on to it."<|quote|>I would rather not have gone for another eight days; we are to stay here that much longer and it is good here. Naturally I have to stand the others drinks at the canteen. We are all a little bit drunk. I become gloomy: I will be away for six weeks-- That is lucky of course, but what m... | base-job. "If you are smart, you'll hang on to it."<|quote|>I would rather not have gone for another eight days; we are to stay here that much longer and it is good here. Naturally I have to stand the others drinks at the canteen. We are all a little bit drunk. I become gloomy: I will be away for six weeks-- That i... | the front immediately. After my leave I have to report for a course of training to a camp on the moors. The others congratulate me. Kat gives me good advice, and tells me I ought to try to get a base-job. "If you are smart, you'll hang on to it."<|quote|>I would rather not have gone for another eight days; we are to st... | journey. I look to see how much leave I have got. Seventeen days--fourteen days leave and three days for travelling. It is not enough and I ask whether I cannot have five days for travelling. Bertinck points to my pass. There I see that I am not to return to the front immediately. After my leave I have to report for a ... | cannot trust myself to speak, I am not in the least happy. Then we hear footsteps and dodge behind a shrub. The steps come nearer, close by us. We see a naked soldier, in boots, just like ourselves; he has a package under his arm, and gallops onward. It is Tjaden in full course. He has disappeared already. We laugh. In... | to go, and where we have to wait in long queues. I wish I never thought of them; but desire turns my mind to them involuntarily and I am afraid, for it might be impossible ever to be free of them again. But then I feel the lips of the little brunette and press myself against them, my eyes close and I let it all fall fr... | all look very young. The little brunette strokes my hair and says what all the French women say: "La guerre--grand malheur--pauvres garçons----" I hold her arm tightly and press my lips into the palm of her hand. Her fingers close round my face. Close above me are her bewildering eyes, the soft brown of her skin and h... | above me lives and is clear. How various is a face; but an hour ago it was strange and now it is touched with a tenderness that comes, not from it, but out of the night, the world and the blood, all these things seem to shine in it together. The objects in the room are touched by it and transformed, they become isolate... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
; but merely going on leave--she does not want to hear about that, that is not nearly so interesting. May she go to the devil with her chattering talk. A man dreams of a miracle and wakes up to loaves of bread. Next morning, after I have been de-loused, I go to the rail head. Albert and Kat come with me. At the halt... | No speaker | again called me "pauvre garçon"<|quote|>; but merely going on leave--she does not want to hear about that, that is not nearly so interesting. May she go to the devil with her chattering talk. A man dreams of a miracle and wakes up to loaves of bread. Next morning, after I have been de-loused, I go to the rail head. A... | front, then she would have again called me "pauvre garçon"<|quote|>; but merely going on leave--she does not want to hear about that, that is not nearly so interesting. May she go to the devil with her chattering talk. A man dreams of a miracle and wakes up to loaves of bread. Next morning, after I have been de-louse... | never see one another again. But she merely nods and takes no special notice. At first I am at a loss to understand, then it suddenly dawns on me. Yes, Leer is right: if I were going up to the front, then she would have again called me "pauvre garçon"<|quote|>; but merely going on leave--she does not want to hear about... | a man when he is going away the next morning! At night we go again to the other side of the canal. I am almost afraid to tell the little brunette that I am going away, and when I return we will certainly be far away from here; we will never see one another again. But she merely nods and takes no special notice. At firs... | his broad thumb, and calm voice--Müller with the protruding teeth and the booming laugh; Tjaden with his mousey eyes;--Leer who has grown a full beard and looks at least forty. Over us hangs a dense cloud of smoke. Where would a soldier be without tobacco. The canteen is his refuge, and beer is far more than a drink, i... | got. Seventeen days--fourteen days leave and three days for travelling. It is not enough and I ask whether I cannot have five days for travelling. Bertinck points to my pass. There I see that I am not to return to the front immediately. After my leave I have to report for a course of training to a camp on the moors. Th... | it is touched with a tenderness that comes, not from it, but out of the night, the world and the blood, all these things seem to shine in it together. The objects in the room are touched by it and transformed, they become isolated, and I feel almost awed at the sight of my clear skin when the light of the lamp falls up... | I have to report for a course of training to a camp on the moors. The others congratulate me. Kat gives me good advice, and tells me I ought to try to get a base-job. "If you are smart, you'll hang on to it." I would rather not have gone for another eight days; we are to stay here that much longer and it is good here. ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert." | Paul | take leave of one another.<|quote|>"Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert."</|quote|>They go off and wave | go back to duty. We take leave of one another.<|quote|>"Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert."</|quote|>They go off and wave once or twice. Their figures | after I have been de-loused, I go to the rail head. Albert and Kat come with me. At the halt we learn that it will be a couple of hours yet before the train leaves. The other two have to go back to duty. We take leave of one another.<|quote|>"Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert."</|quote|>They go off and wave once or twi... | have again called me "pauvre garçon" ; but merely going on leave--she does not want to hear about that, that is not nearly so interesting. May she go to the devil with her chattering talk. A man dreams of a miracle and wakes up to loaves of bread. Next morning, after I have been de-loused, I go to the rail head. Albe... | How it all rises up before a man when he is going away the next morning! At night we go again to the other side of the canal. I am almost afraid to tell the little brunette that I am going away, and when I return we will certainly be far away from here; we will never see one another again. But she merely nods and takes... | have gone for another eight days; we are to stay here that much longer and it is good here. Naturally I have to stand the others drinks at the canteen. We are all a little bit drunk. I become gloomy: I will be away for six weeks-- That is lucky of course, but what may happen before I get back? Shall I meet all these fe... | we have to wait in long queues. I wish I never thought of them; but desire turns my mind to them involuntarily and I am afraid, for it might be impossible ever to be free of them again. But then I feel the lips of the little brunette and press myself against them, my eyes close and I let it all fall from me, war and te... | is a token that a man can move his limbs and stretch in safety. We do it ceremonially, we stretch our legs out in front of us and spit deliberately, that is the only way. How it all rises up before a man when he is going away the next morning! At night we go again to the other side of the canal. I am almost afraid to t... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
They go off and wave once or twice. Their figures dwindle. I know their every step and movement; I would recognize them at any distance. Then they disappear. I sit down on my pack and wait. Suddenly I become filled with a consuming impatience to be gone. * * I lie down on many a station platform; I stand before ... | No speaker | luck, Kat; good luck, Albert."<|quote|>They go off and wave once or twice. Their figures dwindle. I know their every step and movement; I would recognize them at any distance. Then they disappear. I sit down on my pack and wait. Suddenly I become filled with a consuming impatience to be gone. * * I lie down on m... | leave of one another. "Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert."<|quote|>They go off and wave once or twice. Their figures dwindle. I know their every step and movement; I would recognize them at any distance. Then they disappear. I sit down on my pack and wait. Suddenly I become filled with a consuming impatience to be... | go to the rail head. Albert and Kat come with me. At the halt we learn that it will be a couple of hours yet before the train leaves. The other two have to go back to duty. We take leave of one another. "Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert."<|quote|>They go off and wave once or twice. Their figures dwindle. I know thei... | ; but merely going on leave--she does not want to hear about that, that is not nearly so interesting. May she go to the devil with her chattering talk. A man dreams of a miracle and wakes up to loaves of bread. Next morning, after I have been de-loused, I go to the rail head. Albert and Kat come with me. At the halt... | a man when he is going away the next morning! At night we go again to the other side of the canal. I am almost afraid to tell the little brunette that I am going away, and when I return we will certainly be far away from here; we will never see one another again. But she merely nods and takes no special notice. At firs... | we are to stay here that much longer and it is good here. Naturally I have to stand the others drinks at the canteen. We are all a little bit drunk. I become gloomy: I will be away for six weeks-- That is lucky of course, but what may happen before I get back? Shall I meet all these fellows again? Already Haie has gone... | queues. I wish I never thought of them; but desire turns my mind to them involuntarily and I am afraid, for it might be impossible ever to be free of them again. But then I feel the lips of the little brunette and press myself against them, my eyes close and I let it all fall from me, war and terror and grossness, in o... | course, but what may happen before I get back? Shall I meet all these fellows again? Already Haie has gone--who will the next be? As we drink, I look at each of them in turn. Albert sits beside me and smokes, he is silent, we have always been together;--opposite squats Kat, with his drooping shoulders, his broad thumb,... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
--She calls me | No speaker | am giving a soldier coffee!"<|quote|>--She calls me</|quote|>"Comrade," but I will have | own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!"<|quote|>--She calls me</|quote|>"Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outside in | steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!"<|quote|>--She calls me</|quote|>"Comrade," but I will... | a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops, and there is the station with noise and cries and sentries. I pick up my pack and fasten the straps, I take my rifle in my hand and stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people... | of shadow, light, and desire. The field swings round as the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A ... | white-washed, half-timbered houses, its corn-fields, gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the slanting light, its orchards, its barns and old lime trees. The names of the stations begin to take on meaning and my heart trembles. The train stamps and stamps onward, I stand at the window and hold on to the frame. These names ... | Kat, with his drooping shoulders, his broad thumb, and calm voice--Müller with the protruding teeth and the booming laugh; Tjaden with his mousey eyes;--Leer who has grown a full beard and looks at least forty. Over us hangs a dense cloud of smoke. Where would a soldier be without tobacco. The canteen is his refuge, an... | Then they disappear. I sit down on my pack and wait. Suddenly I become filled with a consuming impatience to be gone. * * I lie down on many a station platform; I stand before many a soup-kitchen; I squat on many a bench;--then at last the landscape becomes gloomy, mysterious, and familiar. It glides past the western w... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the stream roars alongside the street, it rushes foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge. There stands the old, square watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it the evening. Here we have often sat--how long ago it is--; we ha... | No speaker | coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade,"<|quote|>but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the stream roars alongside the street, it rushes foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge. There stands the old, square watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it the evening. Here we ... | I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade,"<|quote|>but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the stream roars alongside the street, it rushes foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge. There stands the old, square watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it ... | I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade,"<|quote|>but I will have none of it. Outside in fr... | a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops, and there is the station with noise and cries and sentries. I pick up my pack and fasten the straps, I take my rifle in my hand and stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and f... | desire. The field swings round as the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I sta... | corn-fields, gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the slanting light, its orchards, its barns and old lime trees. The names of the stations begin to take on meaning and my heart trembles. The train stamps and stamps onward, I stand at the window and hold on to the frame. These names mark the boundaries of my youth. Smooth ... | shoulders, his broad thumb, and calm voice--Müller with the protruding teeth and the booming laugh; Tjaden with his mousey eyes;--Leer who has grown a full beard and looks at least forty. Over us hangs a dense cloud of smoke. Where would a soldier be without tobacco. The canteen is his refuge, and beer is far more than... | go to the rail head. Albert and Kat come with me. At the halt we learn that it will be a couple of hours yet before the train leaves. The other two have to go back to duty. We take leave of one another. "Good luck, Kat; good luck, Albert." They go off and wave once or twice. Their figures dwindle. I know their every ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
she cries, | No speaker | is my eldest sister. "Paul,"<|quote|>she cries,</|quote|>"Paul----" I nod, my pack | and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul,"<|quote|>she cries,</|quote|>"Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my | was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul,"<|quote|>she cries,</|quote|>"Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps agains... | brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks o... | still shoots over in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pas... | stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will... | consuming impatience to be gone. * * I lie down on many a station platform; I stand before many a soup-kitchen; I squat on many a bench;--then at last the landscape becomes gloomy, mysterious, and familiar. It glides past the western windows with its villages, their thatched roofs like caps, pulled over the white-washe... | hang from the piles of the bridge;--and on hot days we rejoiced in the spouting foam on the other side of the lock and told tales about our school-teachers. I pass over the bridge, I look right and left; the water is as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots over in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresse... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: | No speaker | sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----"<|quote|>I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls:</|quote|>"Mother, mother, Paul is here." | Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----"<|quote|>I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls:</|quote|>"Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, | are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----"<|quote|>I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle ... | its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day... | in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and he... | steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will have none of it.... | be gone. * * I lie down on many a station platform; I stand before many a soup-kitchen; I squat on many a bench;--then at last the landscape becomes gloomy, mysterious, and familiar. It glides past the western windows with its villages, their thatched roofs like caps, pulled over the white-washed, half-timbered houses,... | A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though i... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word... | No speaker | "Mother, mother, Paul is here."<|quote|>I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my t... | a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here."<|quote|>I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against ... | am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here."<|quote|>I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I le... | The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my ... | ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, t... | to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the stream roars alongside the street, it rushes foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge. The... | last the landscape becomes gloomy, mysterious, and familiar. It glides past the western windows with its villages, their thatched roofs like caps, pulled over the white-washed, half-timbered houses, its corn-fields, gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the slanting light, its orchards, its barns and old lime trees. The nam... | of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops, and there is the station with noise and cries and sentries. I pick up my pack and fasten the straps, I take m... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: | No speaker | "Why, what is the matter?"<|quote|>Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely:</|quote|>"Bring me a handkerchief." She | sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?"<|quote|>Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely:</|quote|>"Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me o... | made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?"<|quote|>Then I pull myself together and stagger on t... | helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself lau... | is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bump... | the green creepers and weeds hang from the piles of the bridge;--and on hot days we rejoiced in the spouting foam on the other side of the lock and told tales about our school-teachers. I pass over the bridge, I look right and left; the water is as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots over in gleaming arches; in ... | roads, leading into the country, smooth roads without artillery. It is evening, and if the train did not rattle I should cry out. The plain unfolds itself. In the distance, the soft, blue silhouette of the mountain ranges begins to appear. I recognize the characteristic outline of the Dolbenberg, a jagged comb, springi... | confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out t... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Bring me a handkerchief." | Paul | baggage. Then I say fiercely:<|quote|>"Bring me a handkerchief."</|quote|>She gives me one from | fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely:<|quote|>"Bring me a handkerchief."</|quote|>She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry | comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely:<|quote|>"Bring me a handkerchief."</|quote|>She gives me one from... | I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I p... | take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet an... | right and left; the water is as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots over in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of ... | I recognize the characteristic outline of the Dolbenberg, a jagged comb, springing up precipitously from the limit of the forests. Behind it should lie the town. But now the sun streams through the world, dissolving everything in its golden-red light, the train swings round one curve and then another;--far away, in a l... | watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it the evening. Here we have often sat--how long ago it is--; we have passed over this bridge and breathed the cool, acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the still water on this side of the lock, where the green creepers and weeds hang ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. | No speaker | fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief."<|quote|>She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom.</|quote|>"Is she in bed?" I | and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief."<|quote|>She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom.</|quote|>"Is she in bed?" I ask my sister.... | "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief."<|quote|>She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my fac... | word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself togeth... | and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold th... | water is as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots over in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people st... | outline of the Dolbenberg, a jagged comb, springing up precipitously from the limit of the forests. Behind it should lie the town. But now the sun streams through the world, dissolving everything in its golden-red light, the train swings round one curve and then another;--far away, in a long line one behind the other, ... | something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the stream roars alongside the street, it rushes foaming from the sluices of the mill br... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Is she in bed?" | Paul | It comes from the bedroom.<|quote|>"Is she in bed?"</|quote|>I ask my sister. "She | I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom.<|quote|>"Is she in bed?"</|quote|>I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I | and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom.<|quote|>"Is she in bed?"</|quote|>I ask my sister.... | run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She give... | go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sis... | out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial wa... | one curve and then another;--far away, in a long line one behind the other, stand the poplars, unsubstantial, swaying and dark, fashioned out of shadow, light, and desire. The field swings round as the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one ... | this bridge and breathed the cool, acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the still water on this side of the lock, where the green creepers and weeds hang from the piles of the bridge;--and on hot days we rejoiced in the spouting foam on the other side of the lock and told tales about our school-teacher... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I ask my sister. | No speaker | bedroom. "Is she in bed?"<|quote|>I ask my sister.</|quote|>"She is ill--" she replies. | voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?"<|quote|>I ask my sister.</|quote|>"She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, | say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?"<|quote|>I ask my sister.</|quote|>"She is ill--" she ... | My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cu... | Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerles... | windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist'... | another;--far away, in a long line one behind the other, stand the poplars, unsubstantial, swaying and dark, fashioned out of shadow, light, and desire. The field swings round as the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they rea... | "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fie... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: | No speaker | my sister. "She is ill--"<|quote|>she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can:</|quote|>"Here I am, mother." She | she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--"<|quote|>she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can:</|quote|>"Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim | gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--"<|quote|>she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as cal... | what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me o... | wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle t... | before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand b... | behind the other, stand the poplars, unsubstantial, swaying and dark, fashioned out of shadow, light, and desire. The field swings round as the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and... | "Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the stream roars alongside the street, it rushes foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge. There stands the old, square watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it the evening. Here we have often sat--how long ago it ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Here I am, mother." | Paul | as calmly as I can:<|quote|>"Here I am, mother."</|quote|>She lies still in the | her my hand and say as calmly as I can:<|quote|>"Here I am, mother."</|quote|>She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks | glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can:<|quote|>"Here I am, mother."</|quote|>She lies still in the dim light. The... | rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I ... | take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, ... | dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a ... | field swings round as the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the wi... | I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: | No speaker | can: "Here I am, mother."<|quote|>She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously:</|quote|>"Are you wounded?" and I | say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother."<|quote|>She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously:</|quote|>"Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, | coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother."<|quote|>She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously:</|quote... | I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's vo... | staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, pa... | In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness com... | the train encircles it, and the intervals between the trees diminish; the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag my... | rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Are you wounded?" | Paul's mother | light. Then she asks anxiously:<|quote|>"Are you wounded?"</|quote|>and I feel her searching | lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously:<|quote|>"Are you wounded?"</|quote|>and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got | voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously:<|quote|>"Are you wounded?"</|quote|>and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have g... | it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I... | of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My s... | learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak unde... | the trees become a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repea... | acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the still water on this side of the lock, where the green creepers and weeds hang from the piles of the bridge;--and on hot days we rejoiced in the spouting foam on the other side of the lock and told tales about our school-teachers. I pass over the bridge, I look r... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
and I feel her searching glance. | No speaker | asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?"<|quote|>and I feel her searching glance.</|quote|>"No, I have got leave." | the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?"<|quote|>and I feel her searching glance.</|quote|>"No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. | from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?"<|quote|>and I feel her searching glance.</|quote|>"No, I have got leave." My mo... | down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister... | against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes ... | cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upsta... | a block and for a moment I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the n... | open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my si... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"No, I have got leave." | Paul | I feel her searching glance.<|quote|>"No, I have got leave."</|quote|>My mother is very pale. | anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance.<|quote|>"No, I have got leave."</|quote|>My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make | bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance.<|quote|>"No, I have got leave."</|quote|>My mother is very pale. I am afra... | I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go ... | teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is t... | know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking... | I see one only--then they reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we... | the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I know every shop, the colonial warehouse, the... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. | No speaker | "No, I have got leave."<|quote|>My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light.</|quote|>"Here I lie now," says | I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave."<|quote|>My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light.</|quote|>"Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of | "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave."<|quote|>My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light.</|quote|>"He... | a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my han... | speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull mysel... | warehouse, the chemist's, the tobacconist's. Then at last I stand before the brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the k... | reappear from behind the foremost tree and stand out a long line against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse... | is as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots over in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand an... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Here I lie now," | Paul's mother | afraid to make a light.<|quote|>"Here I lie now,"</|quote|>says she, "and cry instead | is very pale. I am afraid to make a light.<|quote|>"Here I lie now,"</|quote|>says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you | my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light.<|quote|>"Here I lie now,"</|quote|>says she, "and cry instead of being gla... | my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still... | do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle i... | brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks o... | against the sky until they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a... | potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pu... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
says she, | No speaker | light. "Here I lie now,"<|quote|>says she,</|quote|>"and cry instead of being | am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now,"<|quote|>says she,</|quote|>"and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" | as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now,"<|quote|>says she,</|quote|>"and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sic... | on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light.... | to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pa... | worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of ... | they are hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a gre... | rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to spea... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"and cry instead of being glad." | Paul | I lie now," says she,<|quote|>"and cry instead of being glad."</|quote|>"Are you sick, mother?" I | to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she,<|quote|>"and cry instead of being glad."</|quote|>"Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to | as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she,<|quote|>"and cry instead of being glad."</|quote|>"Are you sick, mother?... | wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then ... | myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack again... | and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is S... | hidden by the first houses. A street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;... | pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Are you sick, mother?" | Paul's mother | cry instead of being glad."<|quote|>"Are you sick, mother?"</|quote|>I ask. "I am going | lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad."<|quote|>"Are you sick, mother?"</|quote|>I ask. "I am going to get up a little | mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad."<|quote|>"Are you sick, mother?"</|quote|>I ask. "I am going t... | the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wo... | word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on... | open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my si... | street-crossing. I stand at the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it ... | off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rif... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I ask. | No speaker | glad." "Are you sick, mother?"<|quote|>I ask.</|quote|>"I am going to get | "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?"<|quote|>I ask.</|quote|>"I am going to get up a little to-day," she | in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?"<|quote|>I ask.</|quote|>"I am going to get up a little to-day,... | once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searchi... | I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down... | a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over.... | the window, I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it were my mother. Then the tra... | brown door with its worn latch and my hand grows heavy. I open the door and a wonderful freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks o... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"I am going to get up a little to-day," | Paul's mother | you sick, mother?" I ask.<|quote|>"I am going to get up a little to-day,"</|quote|>she says and turns to | instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask.<|quote|>"I am going to get up a little to-day,"</|quote|>she says and turns to my sister, who is continually | dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask.<|quote|>"I am going to get up a little to-day,"</|quote|>she s... | collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glan... | on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equi... | freshness comes out to meet me, my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a momen... | I cannot drag myself away. The others put their baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops, an... | and told tales about our school-teachers. I pass over the bridge, I look right and left; the water is as full of weeds as ever, and it still shoots over in gleaming arches; in the tower-building laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: | No speaker | get up a little to-day,"<|quote|>she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn:</|quote|>"And put out the jar | ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day,"<|quote|>she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn:</|quote|>"And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, | and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day,"<|quote|>she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the ki... | from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale... | will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerc... | dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take of... | baggage ready for getting out. I repeat to myself the name of the Street that we cross ever--Bremerstrasse--Bremerstrasse-- Below there are cyclists, lorries, men; it is a grey street and a grey subway;--it embraces me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops, and there is the station with noise and cries and ... | the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipme... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
she asks me. | No speaker | whortleberries--you like that, don't you?"<|quote|>she asks me.</|quote|>"Yes, mother, I haven't had | out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?"<|quote|>she asks me.</|quote|>"Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." | glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?"<|quote|>she asks me.</|quote|>"Yes, mother, I haven'... | am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a li... | a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my m... | and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, m... | me as though it were my mother. Then the train stops, and there is the station with noise and cries and sentries. I pick up my pack and fasten the straps, I take my rifle in my hand and stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offer... | landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." | Paul | don't you?" she asks me.<|quote|>"Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time."</|quote|>"We might almost have known | of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me.<|quote|>"Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time."</|quote|>"We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my | sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me.<|quote|>"Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time... | lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she ... | set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voic... | course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is... | it were my mother. Then the train stops, and there is the station with noise and cries and sentries. I pick up my pack and fasten the straps, I take my rifle in my hand and stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me somethin... | laundresses still stand with bare arms as they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
laughs my sister, | No speaker | have known you were coming,"<|quote|>laughs my sister,</|quote|>"there is just your favourite | long time." "We might almost have known you were coming,"<|quote|>laughs my sister,</|quote|>"there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries | my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming,"<|quote|>laughs my sister,</|quote|>"there i... | glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does... | Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. ... | my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and g... | sentries. I pick up my pack and fasten the straps, I take my rifle in my hand and stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importanc... | helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt of my rifle against my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself lau... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"And it is Saturday," | Paul | to go with them too."<|quote|>"And it is Saturday,"</|quote|>I add. "Sit here beside | dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too."<|quote|>"And it is Saturday,"</|quote|>I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She | put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too."<|quote|>"And it is Satur... | "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?... | my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still... | she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another st... | stumble down the steps. On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will... | rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself with the butt... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I add. | No speaker | too." "And it is Saturday,"<|quote|>I add.</|quote|>"Sit here beside me," says | whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday,"<|quote|>I add.</|quote|>"Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at | of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday,"<|quote|>I add.</|q... | says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Ye... | on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light.... | nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades b... | On the platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outsi... | my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Sit here beside me," | Paul's mother | it is Saturday," I add.<|quote|>"Sit here beside me,"</|quote|>says my mother. She looks | go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add.<|quote|>"Sit here beside me,"</|quote|>says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are | whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add.<|quote|>"Sit here beside... | "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother,... | wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then ... | pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my... | platform I look round; I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outside in f... | stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down m... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister... | No speaker | add. "Sit here beside me,"<|quote|>says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. ... | "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me,"<|quote|>says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely a... | you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me,"<|quote|>says my mother. She looks at m... | being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any f... | case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "... | banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I cannot take another step, the staircase fades before my eyes, I support myself... | I know no one among all the people hurrying to and fro. A red-cross sister offers me something to drink. I turn away, she smiles at me too foolishly, so obsessed with her own importance: "Just look, I am giving a soldier coffee!" --She calls me "Comrade," but I will have none of it. Outside in front of the station the... | handkerchief." She gives me one from the cupboard and I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Dear boy," | Paul's mother | the evening bread and singing.<|quote|>"Dear boy,"</|quote|>says my mother softly. We | kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing.<|quote|>"Dear boy,"</|quote|>says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in | We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing.<|quote|>"Dear boy,"</|quote|>says my mother softly. We were ... | known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am than... | I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to wat... | my feet and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and... | foaming from the sluices of the mill bridge. There stands the old, square watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it the evening. Here we have often sat--how long ago it is--; we have passed over this bridge and breathed the cool, acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the stil... | Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the d... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me | No speaker | bread and singing. "Dear boy,"<|quote|>says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me</|quote|>"dear boy," it means much | my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy,"<|quote|>says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me</|quote|>"dear boy," it means much more than... | very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy,"<|quote|>says my mother softly. We were never very demon... | were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that ... | her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mother is very pale. I am afraid to make a light. "Here I lie now," says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that... | and clench my teeth fiercely, but I cannot speak a word, my sister's call has made me powerless, I can do nothing, I struggle to make myself laugh, to speak, but no word comes, and so I stand on the steps, miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "... | the sluices of the mill bridge. There stands the old, square watch-tower, in front of it the great mottled lime tree and behind it the evening. Here we have often sat--how long ago it is--; we have passed over this bridge and breathed the cool, acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the still water on th... | over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul i... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"dear boy," | Paul's mother | my mother says to me<|quote|>"dear boy,"</|quote|>it means much more than | what they already know. When my mother says to me<|quote|>"dear boy,"</|quote|>it means much more than when another uses it. I | sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me<|quote|>"dear boy,"</|quote|>it means much more than wh... | and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my ... | to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were co... | miserable, helpless, paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and bagg... | and breathed the cool, acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the still water on this side of the lock, where the green creepers and weeds hang from the piles of the bridge;--and on hot days we rejoiced in the spouting foam on the other side of the lock and told tales about our school-teachers. I pass ov... | down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fiercely: "Bring me a handkerchief." She gives me... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
it means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit ... | No speaker | says to me "dear boy,"<|quote|>it means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has ... | already know. When my mother says to me "dear boy,"<|quote|>it means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportun... | the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me "dear boy,"<|quote|>it means much more than when another uses it. I ... | and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother soft... | up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," ... | paralysed, and against my will the tears run down my cheeks. My sister comes back and says: "Why, what is the matter?" Then I pull myself together and stagger on to the landing. I lean my rifle in a corner, I set my pack against the wall, place my helmet on it, and fling down my equipment and baggage. Then I say fier... | the cool, acid smell of the stagnant water; we have leaned over the still water on this side of the lock, where the green creepers and weeds hang from the piles of the bridge;--and on hot days we rejoiced in the spouting foam on the other side of the lock and told tales about our school-teachers. I pass over the bridge... | says she, "and cry instead of being glad." "Are you sick, mother?" I ask. "I am going to get up a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Ye... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"You are at home, you are at home." | Paul | and say over to myself:--<|quote|>"You are at home, you are at home."</|quote|>But a sense of strangeness | and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:--<|quote|>"You are at home, you are at home."</|quote|>But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I | me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:--<|quote|>"You are at home, you are at home."</|quote|>But a sense of s... | my mother says to me "dear boy," it means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and ha... | me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singi... | once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searchi... | they used to over the clean linen, and the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke... | I dry my face. Above me on the wall hangs the glass case with the coloured butterflies that once I collected. Now I hear my mother's voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the... | No speaker | home, you are at home."<|quote|>But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack... | to myself:-- "You are at home, you are at home."<|quote|>But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us... | of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:-- "You are at home, you are at home."<|quote|>But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myse... | means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her... | frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother softly. ... | voice. It comes from the bedroom. "Is she in bed?" I ask my sister. "She is ill--" she replies. I go in to her, give her my hand and say as calmly as I can: "Here I am, mother." She lies still in the dim light. Then she asks anxiously: "Are you wounded?" and I feel her searching glance. "No, I have got leave." My mot... | the heat from the ironing pours out through the open windows. Dogs trot along the narrow street, before the doors of the houses people stand and follow me with their gaze as I pass by, dirty and heavy laden. In this confectioner's we used to eat ices, and there we learned to smoke cigarettes. Walking down the street I ... | here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"I suppose you can make some use of that----" | Paul | a little bag of rice.<|quote|>"I suppose you can make some use of that----"</|quote|>They nod. "Is it pretty | a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice.<|quote|>"I suppose you can make some use of that----"</|quote|>They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?" I | I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice.<|quote|>"I suppose you can make some use of that----"</|... | But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the... | means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her... | a little to-day," she says and turns to my sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," lau... | my eyes are dim. The stairs creak under my boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, th... | she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil a... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
They nod. | No speaker | make some use of that----"<|quote|>They nod.</|quote|>"Is it pretty bad for | rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----"<|quote|>They nod.</|quote|>"Is it pretty bad for food here?" I enquire. "Yes, | and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----"<|quote|>They nod.</|quote|>"Is it pretty bad for... | I can find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, th... | know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut tre... | sister, who is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourit... | boots. Upstairs a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, i... | that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Is it pretty bad for food here?" | Paul | use of that----" They nod.<|quote|>"Is it pretty bad for food here?"</|quote|>I enquire. "Yes, there's not | suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod.<|quote|>"Is it pretty bad for food here?"</|quote|>I enquire. "Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough | out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod.<|quote|>"Is it pretty bad for food here?"</|quo... | find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat... | enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the ... | is continually running to the kitchen to watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, pota... | a door rattles, someone is looking over the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest s... | the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me "dear boy," it means much more than when another uses it. I know wel... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I enquire. | No speaker | pretty bad for food here?"<|quote|>I enquire.</|quote|>"Yes, there's not much. Do | that----" They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?"<|quote|>I enquire.</|quote|>"Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough out there?" | Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?"<|quote|>I enquire.</|quote|>"Yes, there's not much. ... | things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of arm... | the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and go... | watch that the food does not burn: "And put out the jar of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go ... | the railing. It is the kitchen door that was opened, they are cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I n... | beside her. And in the kitchen stands my sister making the evening bread and singing. "Dear boy," says my mother softly. We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me "dear boy," it... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
I smile and point to the things I have brought. | No speaker | you get enough out there?"<|quote|>I smile and point to the things I have brought.</|quote|>"Not always quite so much | "Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough out there?"<|quote|>I smile and point to the things I have brought.</|quote|>"Not always quite so much as that, of course, but | three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?" I enquire. "Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough out there?"<|quote|>I smile and point to the things I have brought... | of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano--but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of live... | kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:-- "You are ... | of preserved whortleberries--you like that, don't you?" she asks me. "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here b... | cooking potato-cakes, the house reeks of it, and to-day of course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy.... | might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very lit... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well." | Paul | the things I have brought.<|quote|>"Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well."</|quote|>Erna goes out to bring | I smile and point to the things I have brought.<|quote|>"Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well."</|quote|>Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my | a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?" I enquire. "Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough out there?" I smile and point to the things I have brought.<|quote|>"Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reas... | myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us. I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I... | she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:-- "You are at home, you are at home." But a sense of strangen... | "Yes, mother, I haven't had any for a long time." "We might almost have known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and... | course is Saturday; that will be my sister leaning over. For a moment I am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is... | favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything ... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my mother seizes hold of my hand and asks falteringly: | No speaker | but we fare reasonably well."<|quote|>Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my mother seizes hold of my hand and asks falteringly:</|quote|>"Was it very bad out | much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well."<|quote|>Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my mother seizes hold of my hand and asks falteringly:</|quote|>"Was it very bad out there, Paul?" Mother, what should | make some use of that----" They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?" I enquire. "Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough out there?" I smile and point to the things I have brought. "Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well."<|quote|>Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my mo... | my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought--a whole Edamer cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod. "Is it pretty b... | and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:-- "You are at home, you are at home." But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myself in all these things. ... | known you were coming," laughs my sister, "there is just your favourite dish, potato-cakes, and even whortle-berries to go with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am than... | am shy and lower my head, then I take off my helmet and look up. Yes, it is my eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean again... | add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it safely and sit here beside her. And in t... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
"Was it very bad out there, Paul?" | Paul's mother | my hand and asks falteringly:<|quote|>"Was it very bad out there, Paul?"</|quote|>Mother, what should I answer | my mother seizes hold of my hand and asks falteringly:<|quote|>"Was it very bad out there, Paul?"</|quote|>Mother, what should I answer to that! You would not | much. Do you get enough out there?" I smile and point to the things I have brought. "Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well." Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my mother seizes hold of my hand and asks falteringly:<|quote|>"Was it very bad out there, Paul?"</|quote|>Mother,... | me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice. "I suppose you can make some use of that----" They nod. "Is it pretty bad for food here?" I enquire. "Yes, there's not much. Do you get enough out there?" I smile and point t... | trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:-- "You are at home, you are at home." But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I can find nothing of myself in all these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the ma... | with them too." "And it is Saturday," I add. "Sit here beside me," says my mother. She looks at me. Her hands are white and sickly and frail compared with mine. We say very little, and I am thankful that she asks nothing. What ought I to say? Everything I could have wished for has happened. I have come out of it ... | eldest sister. "Paul," she cries, "Paul----" I nod, my pack bumps against the banisters; my rifle is so heavy. She pulls a door open and calls: "Mother, mother, Paul is here." I can go no further--mother, mother, Paul is here. I lean against the wall and grip my helmet and rifle. I hold them as tight as I can, but I... | that she gives me too. She has taken a favourable opportunity of getting a few and has put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:-- "You are at home, you are at home." But a sense of str... | All Quiet on the Western Front |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.