In The Heat Of The

Whatever Boelcke Told Us Was Taken As Gospel!

If I Should Come Out Of This War Alive, I Will Have More Luck Than Brains.

In The Heat Of The Russian Summer A Sleeping Car Is The Most Horrible Instrument Of Martyrdom Imaginable.

The Quality Of The Box Matters Little. Success Depends Upon The Man Who Sits In It.

As A Little Boy Of Eleven I Entered The Cadet Corps. I Was Not Particularly Eager To Become A Cadet, But My Father Wished It. So My Wishes Were Not Consulted.