All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.

I don't ask myself, is the life congenial to me? But, am I fitted for, am I called to, the Ministry?

The war effects me less than it ought. I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.

Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats and the rest of them wrote!

Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats and the rest of them wrote!

I am only conscious of any satisfaction in Scientific Reading or thinking when it rounds off into a poetical generality and vagueness.