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

— Wilfred Owen

The most whopping Wilfred Owen quotes that will be huge advantage for your personal development

All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.

48

I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense conciliatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.

46

The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

35

No-man's land under snow is like the face of the moon: chaotic, crater ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness.

27

Above all I am not concerned with Poetry.

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

27

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

25

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

24

I, too, saw God through mud - The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

23

All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.

22

This book is not about heroes. English poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or power, except War. Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

22

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

20

The universal pervasion of ugliness, hideous landscapes, vile noises, foul language...everything. Unnatural, broken, blasted; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies sit outside the dug outs all day, all night, the most execrable sights on earth. In poetry we call them the most glorious.

20

About Wilfred Owen

Quotes 67 sayings
Nationality English
Profession Soldier
Birthday October 16

Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.

19

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is sweet and fitting that you should die for your country.

17

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

16

Whatever mourns when many leave these shores: Whatever shares The eternal reciprocity of tears.

16

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

15

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

12

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

12

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.

12

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

10

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

9

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

5

The marvel is that we did not all die of cold.

As a matter of fact, only one of my party actually froze to death before he could be got back, but I am not able to tell how many have ended up in hospital. We were marooned in a frozen desert. There was not a sign of life on the horizon and a thousand signs of death.

5

As bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.

5

Strange friend,' I said,'here is no cause to mourn.

' 'None,'said the other,'save the undone years, The hopelessness.Whatever hope is yours Was my life also; I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world.

5

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.

5

The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it.

The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head.

4

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

3

A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put forth a fresh outlay of stuff at the same season.

3

The centuries will burn rich loads With which we groaned, Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids, While songs are crooned: But they will not dream of us poor lads, Left in the ground.

3

All the poet can do today is warn. That is why true Poets must be truthful.

3

Courage was mine, and I had mystery, Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled.

2

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

2

Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, Even with truths that lie too deep for taint. I would have poured my spirit without stint But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.

2

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

0

The Young Soldier It is not death Without hereafter To one in dearth Of life and its laughter, Nor the sweet murder Dealt slow and even Unto the martyr Smiling at heaven: It is the smile Faint as a (waning) myth, Faint, and exceeding small On a boy's murdered mouth.

0

Dead men may envy living mites in cheese, Or good germs even.

Microbes have their joys, And subdivide, and never come to death.

0

And some cease feeling Even themselves or for themselves.

Dullness best solves The tease and doubt of shelling

0

Flying is the only active profession I would ever continue with enthusiasm after the War.

0

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

0

Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds, But here the thing's best left at home with friends.

0

Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats and the rest of them wrote!

0

It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined.

0

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

0

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.

0

She is elegant rather than belle.

0

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

0

I thought of all that worked dark pits Of war, and died Digging the rock where Death reputes Peace lies indeed.

0
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