I am never going to have anything more to do with politics or

Winston Churchill, that indomitable lion of the twentieth century, once declared with weariness and resolve: “I am never going to have anything more to do with politics or politicians. When this war is over I shall confine myself entirely to writing and painting.” These words, spoken in the midst of the Second World War, reveal a side of the great statesman that is often forgotten. Beneath the iron speeches and the unyielding courage, there lived a man exhausted by the burdens of command, longing for the quieter pursuits of the heart. His words are a confession, and a promise—that beyond the smoke of battle and the intrigue of politics, life’s truest treasures lie in art, reflection, and creation.

The origin of this saying rests in Churchill’s personal life as much as his public one. Before he was a wartime leader, he was a writer of histories and memoirs, and even a painter who found solace in the landscapes of the English countryside. He knew that politics, though necessary, consumed the soul with endless strife. When he spoke of withdrawing from it, he revealed the natural human yearning for peace after struggle, for beauty after destruction. His words remind us that even the strongest warriors are but men, who seek rest when the battle is done.

Yet history tells us that Churchill’s resolve did not endure. Though he dreamed of retreat into writing and painting, the demands of his nation pulled him back again and again. After the war, he continued in politics, even returning as Prime Minister in the 1950s. Still, the longing expressed in his words should not be dismissed as weakness, but understood as truth: that leadership exacts a price upon the spirit, and that even the greatest among us desire to lay aside the sword and take up the brush.

Consider the real story of his painting at Chartwell, his beloved home. In moments snatched between crises, Churchill would set aside his cigar and coat, and with palette in hand, lose himself in the colors of the earth and sky. “When I paint,” he once said elsewhere, “I forget everything else.” This retreat into art was no mere hobby, but a lifeline, a way of keeping sanity in the face of the crushing weight of destiny. Thus his words about turning to writing and painting carry not only the longing of escape, but the recognition of what nourishes the soul.

The meaning of his statement runs deeper still. For in contrasting the world of politics with that of art, Churchill points us toward two paths of human endeavor: the path of power, with its battles and divisions, and the path of creation, with its healing and harmony. He does not condemn the first, for he gave his life to it, but he exalts the second as the higher refuge, the place where the soul may breathe freely. His yearning reminds us that victory in war is not enough; man must also cultivate peace within himself, lest he be consumed by endless conflict.

We see echoes of this truth in other leaders of history. Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome, bore the weight of empire while writing meditations that sought inner calm. Ulysses S. Grant, after the trials of the Civil War and the presidency, found solace in writing his memoirs—words that still inspire with their honesty and clarity. So too Churchill reveals that even those who stride through fire and thunder yearn to end their days not with battles, but with the gentler work of memory and art.

The lesson for us, then, is timeless: do not let the struggles of life consume you entirely. Even if you are called to labor in difficult and wearying fields, find for yourself the pursuits that restore your soul. If you must fight, fight bravely; if you must lead, lead faithfully. But when the time comes, remember to return to what nourishes you—whether it is writing, painting, music, or the quiet walks of contemplation. For man is not made only for conflict, but for beauty and creation as well.

Practical wisdom demands this of you: balance your battles with your joys. Seek your own “writing and painting,” whatever form it may take, and do not wait until the war of your life is over to embrace it. Let Churchill’s words be both a warning and an inspiration—that greatness, though it demands sacrifice, should not blind you to the gentler callings of the heart. In this balance lies not only endurance, but the fullness of life itself.