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

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is sweet and fitting that you should die for your country.

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

Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

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!

All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.

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