To many men. . . the miasma of peace seems more suffocating than the bracing air of war.
If you feel the urge to write, just lie down and read a book: it will pass.
Being offended is a natural consequence of leaving the house.
People (a group that in my opinion has always attracted an undue amount of attention) have often been likened to snowflakes. This analogy is meant to suggest that each is unique - no two alike. This is quite patently not the case. People, even at the current rate of inflation - in fact, people especially at the current rate of inflation - are quite simply a dime a dozen. And, I hasten to add, their only similarity to snowflakes resides in their invariably and lamentable tendency to turn, after a few warm days, to slush.
If you are a dog and your owner suggests that you wear a sweater suggest that he wear a tail.
As a teenager you are at the last stage in your life when you will be happy to hear that the phone is for you.
I never took hallucinogenic drugs because I never wanted my consciousness expanded one unnecessary iota.
To keep every cog and wheel is the first precaution of intelligent tinkering.
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.
people always live for ever when there is an annuity to be paid them
When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?