Happy Are Men Who Yet Before They

And By His Smile, I Knew That Sullen Hall, By His Dead Smile I Knew We Stood In Hell.

This Book Is Not About Heroes. English Poetry Is Not Yet Fit To Speak Of Them. Nor Is It About Deeds, Or Lands, Nor Anything About Glory, Honour, Might, Majesty, Dominion, Or Power, Except War. Above All I Am Not Concerned With Poetry. My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War. The Poetry Is In The Pity.

If I Have To Be A Soldier I Must Be A Good One, Anything Else Is Unthinkable

After All My Years Of Playing Soldiers, And Then Of Reading History, I Have Almost A Mania To Be In The East, To See Fighting, And To Serve.

All A Poet Can Do Today Is Warn.