Numbers of the old people cannot read. Those who can seldom do.

Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.

After all my years of playing soldiers, and then of reading History, I have almost a mania to be in the East, to see fighting, and to serve.

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

She is elegant rather than belle.

My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

If I have got to be a soldier, I must be a good one, anything else is unthinkable.

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

I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet’s.

I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law.