If I Have To Be A Soldier

Was It For This The Clay Grew Tall? O What Made Fatuous Sunbeams Toil To Break Earth's Sleep At All?

Flying Is The Only Active Profession I Could Ever Continue With Enthusiasm After The War.

My Subject Is War, And The Pity Of War.

Dead Men May Envy Living Mites In Cheese, Or Good Germs Even. Microbes Have Their Joys, And Subdivide, And Never Come To Death.

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.