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

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

These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment.

I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears; and caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts; and buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts; and rusted every bayonet with His tears.

My subject is war, and the pity of war.