Quotes by Wilfred Owen
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Dead men may envy living mites in cheese, Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys, And subdivide, and never come to death.
Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
What passing bells for these who die as cattleOnly the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons.
There was an artist silly for his face, For it was younger than his youth, last year.
And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan. And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid...
I thought of all that worked dark pits Of war, and died Digging the rock where Death reputes Peace lies indeed.
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. (Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland)
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