All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.

I am only conscious of any satisfaction in Scientific Reading or thinking when it rounds off into a poetical generality and vagueness.

Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly.

My subject is war, and the pity of war.

Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats and the rest of them wrote!

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

Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.