Trench Warfare Quotes

“In trench warfare five things are important: firewood, food, tobacco, candles, and the enemy. In winter on the Zaragoza front they were important in that order, with the enemy a bad last”
― George Orwell, Homage to Catalonia

“Trench fighting is the bloodiest, wildest, most brutal of all ... Of all the war's exciting moments none is so powerful as the meeting of two storm troop leaders between narrow trench walls. There's no mercy there, no going back, the blood speaks from a shrill cry of recognition that tears itself from one's breast like a nightmare.”
― Ernst Jünger, Storm of Steel

“Had we returned home in 1916, out of the suffering and the strength of our experience we might have unleashed a storm. Now if we go back we will be weary, broken, burnt out, rootless, and without hope. We will not be able to find our way any more.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

“We are burnt up by hard facts; like tradesmen we understand distinctions, and like butchers, necessities. We are no longer untroubled-- we are indifferent. We might exist there; but should we really live there? We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial-- I believe we are lost.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet On The Western Front

“Behind us lay rainy weeks—grey sky, grey fluid earth, grey dying. If we go out, the rain at once soaks through our overcoat and clothing;—and we remain wet all the time we are in the line. We never get dry. Those who will wear high boots tie sand bags round the tops so that the mud does not pour in so fast. The rifles are caked, the uniforms caked, everything is fluid and dissolved, the earth one dripping, soaked, oily mass in which lie yellow pools with red spiral streams of blood and into which the dead, wounded, and survivors slowly sink down. The storm lashes us, out of the confusion of grey and yellow the hail of splinters whips forth the child-like cries of the wounded, and in the night shattered life groans painfully into silence.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

“… the white stain of chalk mixed with the clay topsoil zigzagging across the freshly-turned earth, the tell-tale marks of the German trenches from which ***** had been enfiladed. Fifty ploughings and fifty harvests had failed to erase those marks, so maybe they were etched into the land for all time, just like the spadework of the ancient peoples which the archaeologists studied with such fervour.”
― Anthony Price, Other Paths to Glory

“The Armless Tics by Stewart Stafford

Never again, the blustering brass said,
Inked in blood, my generation dead,
Human meat carved with lunatic aplomb,
No cowering allowed from gun or bomb.

Lice, rats, and mud—war zeal’s reality.
Trench foot and poisoned-gas lethality,
Churned hellscape, where no man can be,
Scribbling letters home to preserve sanity.

The artillery’s heartbeat, now silent, aghast,
Shells raining on future, present, and past,
On a last keepsake bullet, I etched “11-11”,
Through influenza, faint prayers to Heaven.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford