My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

And war-the worst form of evil!

Can anything be more ridiculous than that a man has a right to kill men because he dwells on the other side of the water, and because his prince has a quarrel with mine, although I have none with him?

Don't cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying.

The theory of war as an apt and proportionate means of solving international conflicts is now out of date.

In time of war the devil makes more room in hell.

The devil invented war and fools practice it.

War begun-hell unchained.

Sweet is war to those who have never experienced it.