He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.

What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.

Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.

It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad.

Man seeks his own good at the whole world's cost.

He who did well in war just earns the right, To begin doing well in peace.