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Dies Quotes by Wilfred Owen

8 Dies quotes by Wilfred Owen

All Dies quotes Wilfred Owen’s page

Wilfred Owen’s war poems captured the stark reality of conflict, and his reflections on dying carry that same poignancy. Across eight short lines you’ll sense his lyrical anguish and the profound humanity behind the battlefield’s final moments.

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Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.

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“There breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray As men's are, dead.”

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The marvel is that we did not all die of cold. As a matter of fact, only one of my party actually…

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I tried to peg out soldierly,--no use! One dies of war like any old disease.

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Happy are men who yet before they are killed Can let their veins run cold.

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“For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping may something have been left, Which must die now.”

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My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is…

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What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

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More by Wilfred Owen

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

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

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Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate.

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And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.

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

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

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The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head.

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Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose.

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“These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. Memory fingers in their hair of murders Multitudinous murders they once witnessed. Wading sloughs of…

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Was it for this the clay grew tall? O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?

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

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And some cease feeling Even themselves or for themselves. Dullness best solves The tease and doubt of shelling

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“Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.”

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

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My subject is war, and the pity of war.

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