Reflecting on World War One WWI Great War writing

Brooke passed, Owen died.

Sassoon is just a trifle too made up—crazy and unhinged, in the sense of hanging off a new geranium.

Brittain saw more and said less than anyone.   This is a testament.

Harrison is brutal and he knows it; there’s something attractive about that.

Remarque is deshabille; Musil, not there, probably got it more.

Montgomery understood.

Manning was endorsed by Hemingway, and the velvet touch of the non-combatant does leave things seeming just a little bit as if you would be wasting time reading it.

Blunden blundens over the flowers.  So desperate is he to make poetry of pottery, he trods in a pool with a  moon in it.

I think it’s got to be Graves; candid, struggling for truth, seemingly unvarnished.  It is him that I would read again, and again, for the truth I can't imagine.