With the end of the Victorian era, we passed into what I feel I must call the terrible 20th century

The pictorial battlefield becomes a sea of mud mercifully veiled by the fog of war.

There are men in the world who derive an exaltation from the proximity of disaster and ruin, as other from success.

I am never going to have anything more to do with politics or politicians. When this war is over I shall confine myself entirely to writing and painting.

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path. Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go. Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential.

When I warned them [the French] that Britain would fight on alone whatever they did, their generals told their Prime Minister and his divided Cabinet, In three weeks England will have her neck wrung like a chicken. Some chicken! Some neck!

You must look at facts, because they look at you.