“Hardly one soldier in a hundred was inspired by religious feeling of even the crudest kind. It would have been difficult to remain religious in the trenches even if one had survived the irreligion of the training battalion at home.”

There is no such thing as good writing, only good rewriting.

Faults in English prose derive not so much from lack of knowledge, intelligence or art as from lack of thought, patience or goodwill.

To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.

A well-chosen anthology is a complete dispensary of medicine for the more common mental disorders, and may be used as much for prevention as cure.

Though philosophers like to define poetry as irrational fancy, for us it is practical, humorous, reasonable way of being ourselves.

Prose books are the show dogs I breed and sell to support my cat.

So when I’m killed, don’t wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, don’t wait for me, Or you must wait for evermore. You’ll find me buried, living-dead In these verses that you’ve read.

We forget cruelty and past betrayal, Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.

In love as in sport, the amateur status must be strictly maintained.

This seems to me a philosophical question, and therefore irrelevant, question. A poet’s destiny is to love.

The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

One smile relieves a heart that grieves.

The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight.

A well-chosen anthology is a complete dispensary of medicine for the more common mental disorders, and may be used as much for prevention as cure.

Myths are seldom simple, and never irresponsible.

Any honest housewife would sort them out, Having a nose for fish, an eye for apples.

I long for home, long for the sight of home.

The wise man belongs to all countries, for the home of a great soul is the whole world.

He lived far from the gods, but in his mind he was at home with them.

Mountains are giant, restful, absorbent. You can heave your spirit into a mountain and the mountain will keep it, folded, and not throw it back as some creeks will. The creeks are the world with all its stimulus and beauty; I live there. But the mountains are home.

To be honest I am not lookin to be romantic, already got someone at home.

This is our home. Let’s build it up, let’s be happy where we come from.

A home opener is always exciting, no matter if it’s home or on the road.

A hot cup of tea brings a sense of comfort where I can enjoy the weather in the confines of my home.