The marvel is that we did not all die of cold. As a matter of fact, only one of my party actually… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
I tried to peg out soldierly,--no use! One dies of war like any old disease. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
“For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping may something have been left, Which must die now.” — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
The war effects me less than it ought. I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
“These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. Memory fingers in their hair of murders Multitudinous murders they once witnessed. Wading sloughs of… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Was it for this the clay grew tall? O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all? — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
And some cease feeling Even themselves or for themselves. Dullness best solves The tease and doubt of shelling — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
