30 Notable Quotes By Wilfred Owen
Wilfred Owen was a distinguished English soldier and poet. He is regarded as one of the most illustrious poets of the First World War. His writings, works, thoughts, and poetry were highly influenced by his mentor, Siegfried Sassoon, and reflected the horrors of gas warfare and trenches. Some of his noteworthy works include, ‘Spring Offensive,’ ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth,’ ‘Dulce et Decorum est,’ ‘Strange Meeting,’ ‘Insensibility,’ and ‘Futility.’ His early writings and works were influenced by the Romantic poets Keats and Shelley. We have amassed some thought-provoking sayings and quotes by Wilfred Owen, which have been excerpted from his thoughts, works, writings, poems and life. Scroll through the famous and inspiring thoughts and quotes by Wilfred Owen that is sure to give you a glimpse of his times.
Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead. The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment. All a poet can do today is warn. Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate. Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad. Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies. O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all? Children are not meant to be studied, but enjoyed. Only by studying to be pleased do we understand them. But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one. Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
"I see your lights!" But ours had long died out. 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. For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping may something have been left,
Which must die now. Consummation is consumption
We cannot consummate our bliss and not consume
All joys are cakes and vanish in eating
All bliss is sugar's melting in the mouth He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry My arms have mutinied against me — brutes!
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,
My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.
Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease. 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. Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
Treading blood from lungs that had loved laughter. You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears:You are not worth their merriment. I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate. Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose.
Voices of boys were by the river-side.
Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
Shall they return to beating of great bells
In wild train-loads?
A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,
May creep back, silent, to village wells,
Up half-known roads.
There breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray
As men's are, dead.
But let my death be memoried on this disc.
Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed.
But let thy heart-beat kiss it night and day,
Until the name grow vague and wear away.
The dust that fell unnoted as a dew,
Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth Now begin
Famines of thought and feeling.