The old happiness is unreturning. Boy's griefs are not so grievous as youth's yearning. Boys have no sadness sadder than our hope.

The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

The universal pervasion of ugliness, hideous landscapes, vile noises, foul language...everything. Unnatural, broken, blasted; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies sit outside the dug outs all day, all night, the most execrable sights on earth. In poetry we call them the most glorious.

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

I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's

Flying is the only active profession I could ever continue with enthusiasm after the War.