Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
Happy are men who yet before they are killed Can let their veins run cold.
Wilfred Owen
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
Wilfred Owen
Age: 25 †
Born: 1893
Born: March 18
Died: 1918
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
Oswestry
Shropshire
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen
Owen
Happy
War
Fear
Running
Men
Insensibility
Veins
Killed
Cold
More quotes by Wilfred Owen
Was it for this the clay grew tall? O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?
Wilfred Owen
My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest, To climb your throat on sobs easily chased On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
Wilfred Owen
All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.
Wilfred Owen
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.
Wilfred Owen
Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.
Wilfred Owen
If I have to be a soldier I must be a good one, anything else is unthinkable
Wilfred Owen
Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot
Wilfred Owen
I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law
Wilfred Owen
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.
Wilfred Owen
I don't ask myself, is the life congenial to me? But, am I fitted for, am I called to, the Ministry?
Wilfred Owen
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.
Wilfred Owen
And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan. And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid Its bruises in the earth, but crawled no further, Showed me its feet, the feet of many men, And the fresh-severed head of it, my head.
Wilfred Owen
It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Wilfred Owen
Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.
Wilfred Owen
The war affects me less than it ought. But I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.
Wilfred Owen
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Wilfred Owen
For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping may something have been left, Which must die now.
Wilfred Owen
Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.
Wilfred Owen
Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose.
Wilfred Owen
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores: Whatever shares The eternal reciprocity of tears.
Wilfred Owen