11 Quotes Tagged: wwi

World War I was the most colossal, murderous, mismanaged butchery that has ever taken place on earth. Any writer who said otherwise lied, So the writers either wrote propaganda, shut up, or fought.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

I have always been considerably addicted to my own company.

I keep such music in my brain
No din this side of death can quell;
Glory exulting over pain,
And beauty, garlanded in hell.

If you can walk with the crowd and keep your virtue, or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute with 60 seconds worth of distance run- Yours is the earth and everything that's in it, And-which is more-you'll be a man my son.

Mute in that golden silence hung with green,
Come down from heaven and bring me in your eyes
Remembrance of all beauty that has been,
And stillness from the pools of Paradise.

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.

I said then, and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; while there is a criminal element, I am of it; while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.

"Soñadores

"Los soldados son cautivos en la tierra de la muerte, no especulan con los riesgos que los hados les reservan, a la hora del destino le dan la cara a su suerte.

(...)

Los soldados se conjuran para alcanzar la victoria, en exultante y fatal culminación de sus vidas, desoyendo de las balas la terminal trayectoria.

Soñando íntimos hogares, y con esposas queridas; yo los veo en agujeros y roídos por las ratas, azotados por la lluvia, en las trincheras... hundidos.

Soñando infantiles juegos con bolas, peonzas y estacas; fingiendo sin esperanzas ansías de tiempos perdidos.

Fiestas, bailes en la aldea, caricias tras de las matas; y aquel marchar al trabajo en un tren… adormecidos.

The master class has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles.

Nobody suspected that the World War just ending would prove to be merely the first one. Had not President Wilson proclaimed it the war to end all wars — if we jumped in and did the dirty job?