I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense conciliatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.

I don't ask myself, is the life congenial to me? But, am I fitted for, am I called to, the Ministry?

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

The war affects me less than it ought. But I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.

Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.

The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head.

Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.