Robin Maxwell > Quotes

“For men love what they cannot have, and hate what they cannot control.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“Am I pretty? I must be, I thought, for all girls in love are pretty.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“Some promises are lies we never meant to tell.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“For a moment in time, a man knew me for who I was and, without reservation, loved me for who I was. How can I now live knowing no one will ever see me again in such a perfect light? Hear me as I wish to be heard? Love me as [he] loved me?”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“If you find a way to write with open heart to Diary, a friend with Truth, no detail spared, your tome like Petrarch’s works will contain the scattered fragments of your soul.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“Danger sweetens the brew. Makes it more delicious.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“Oh love how can we not be together?' Romeo cried. "Without the sight of you every day, the smell, the taste of you, I would wither away. My blood would turn to powder in my veins. And you? Have you not found in me a mirror for your soul? When you look at me, when we speak, touch, do you not see who you really are? I dare you to deny that in my presence you love yourself better. I know this is true, for I love myself better in yours.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“You cannot know" he said simply. "Very little is certain in this life, my lady.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“Time would be my friend, I told myself.

Yet time, I knew even then, was my enemy.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“She shocked me. Truly rocked the ground beneath my feet. Made the air shimmer with her power and grace. The woman had slipped free the prison of rules that governed us all and met me halfway to paradise.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“ROBERT DEVEREAUX, EARL OF ESSEX, was taken to the place of execution at Tower Green on February 25, 1601. Standing before the crowd in a scarlet waistcoat, Essex made his last speech—a rather long one—with eloquence and dignity, claiming his sins “more numerous than the hairs on his head.” He was still speaking when the executioner struck his first blow. It took two more to sever Devereaux’s head. Despite his undisputed treason, Essex was remembered kindly by the English people. Nearly two years after his death, Londoners were still singing a ballad lauding their “great and celebrated noble warrior,” called “Essex’s Last Good Night.” In Ireland he was likewise revered, considered by many rebel chiefs as an ally, and by the common people as the only one of the queen’s commanders who had come over to their side.”
― Robin Maxwell

“Why are there no queens in the deck?” I asked rather suddenly. “It seems odd.” Suzanne Brantôme, on my left, and Mimi La Salle, on my right, smiled knowingly, and I felt foolish. But Marguerite did not smile. “You have by now read The Book of the City of Ladies, have you not, Anna?” “I have.” “Then you should tell us why the deck has no queens.” “Because…,” I began, but I hesitated, for my mind was racing far ahead of my voice. I wished so very much to please the duchess with my answer. “There has been so little recognition of the contributions of women in every walk of life?” I finally offered, with a woeful lack of confidence in my answer. But Marguerite bade me go on with a subtle nod. “Men have looked down upon our sex,” I said. “They have withheld education and caused us great suffering. They do not see women as fit rulers and…” I stopped and thought about my summary of Christine de Pizan’s work. When I began again, it was slowly, as if the words were falling together into an idea as they were spoken. “So why would men place queens in a deck of cards? It might signify their importance in the world.” Marguerite looked at me with affection and approval. “I have thought the same thoughts many times, as have my ladies at these tables. We all know very well there are no kingdoms without queens.” We sat silent for a moment as we pondered the wisdom of that idea. “Mayhap someday soon there will be queens in the playing cards,” I said hopefully. “If it is left to the men to decide, we shall first see the Second Coming of Christ!” Lady Brantôme declared. Everyone laughed at that. Mimi,”
― Robin Maxwell, Mademoiselle Boleyn

“TIBBOT NE LONG BURKE, hard-pressed to choose sides in the Irish rebellion, finally made his decision at the battle of Kinsale. On his own volition he mustered a force of three hundred men and marched south. Under Lord Mountjoy, Tibbot led his men so single-mindedly and courageously that he was lauded by the Crown. Having proven his loyalty beyond any doubt, he returned home to a life of leisure with Maeve and his six children. Miles—for many years a hostage—was released by his English captors and went to live with his family. Like Conyers Clifford before him, Mountjoy befriended Tibbot, took sides with him against a new and unpopular governor of Connaught, and made sure his salary was regularly paid. Tibbot was knighted in the early days of James’s reign and elected to the Irish Parliament as a representative of Mayo in 1613. In 1626, by virtue of his valor and faithful service to King Charles I, he was created Viscount Burke of Mayo. He died, age sixty-two, murdered by an O’Connor brother-in-law while the two were on their way to church.   R”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“The last days of GRACE O’MALLEY’S life are a mystery. There are records of her ships—if not personally captained by her—still patrolling the western Irish coast in mid 1601. She seems to have lived at Rockfleet Castle near the end, and probably died at the age of seventy-three, in 1603—the same year as Elizabeth’s death. Some of her stark, brooding castles and ruined abbeys on the shores and islands of Clew Bay today stand testament to her life, though the whereabouts of her earthly remains are still in dispute. While her ending is shrouded in the mists of time, there’s nothing to suggest that Grace O’Malley would have gone gently into that good night. One can imagine that, like Elizabeth, she’d have stood her ground till the Reaper paid his final, insistent call. But thanks to Ireland’s balladeers and bards and a handful of Englishmen awed by so remarkable a woman, her last voyage was not into oblivion, but the pages of history and the rich fabric of Irish legend.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“O’Neill and his army marched south from Ulster to meet the enemy while his ally Red Hugh O’Donnell marched in from the west. But once the Irish armies were in place, O’Neill and O’Donnell began arguing as to which of them should begin the attack. This delay proved fatal as the agreed upon hour of rendezvous with the Spaniards passed, and the window of opportunity for an Irish victory slammed shut. The Battle of Kinsale lasted three months, and in the end O’Neill was unable to defeat Mountjoy’s siege lines. Finally the Spanish troops surrendered to the English and sailed home. Thousands of Irish rebels died in the fighting or, taken prisoner, were hung. Hugh O’Neill was forced to submit to the English conquerors in a series of humiliating ceremonies, first on his knees to Mountjoy, then to the Lord Deputy and the Irish Privy Council. It was only after he’d put his submission in writing, renouncing his title of “The O’Neill and his allegiance to Spain, as well as protesting loyalty to the Crown, was he told that Elizabeth had died six days before. Mountjoy had tricked him. It was said that O’Neill wept openly and copiously for both his personal defeat and the ruination of the “Irish cause.” The rebel leader retreated to Ulster, and by the good graces of the new king of England, was pardoned once again, and his lands restored to him. He took up residency in his luxurious home, but spurred by a series of dangerous events and the realization that no hope was left for a free Ireland, O’Neill and a handful of Irish overlords and their families sailed from their homeland in 1607. The tragic “Flight of the Earls” ended the most tumultuous century in Ireland’s history. Tyrone,”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“We Irish were alone, of all countries, in this way of choosing our leaders. Everywhere else in the world ’tis a firstborn son who’s heir to the title—in England, your primogeniture—and no questions asked. But tanaistry was how the Irish chiefs were made, and it had always served us well. Aside”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“When they’d crested the final hill, the huge gathering of clans spread out below, she’d turned to him. “This is what we call a ‘booley’—summer grazing for our cattle.” “But there’s a house,” he said, perplexed. “Well, of course there is—a booley house. Where else would the people sleep—amongst the herd?” Essex smiled, chastised. “You’ll just have to leave off your silly conception of the ‘wild Irish.’ Believe it or not, we are civilized, even at the booley. Did you know that back in the last millennium all the European monarchs for eight hundred years insisted on Irish councilors and clergy to advise them on matters of church and state, for of all men they were the best educated and most wise? Did you know that without the Irish monks slavin’ over their illuminated texts, all the great books of Roman civilization would have been lost to the barbarian hoards? No, I can see that you didn’t.” A”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“How can this be so? How has it come to this, that all the Lords of England have embraced evil so fervently that they would execute one Lady so that her husband might marry another? It might be said that Henry is no ordinary husband. He is the King. The Sun. A God on earth. But I have known him, and the truth of it is Henry is a man, no more no less, placed upon the throne by other men, thro war and bloodshed and the love of power.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“Everyone knows that for a woman to conceive in the act of coition she, as well as the man. must be satisfied. Is that not true?

Of corse it is true.”
― Robin Maxwell, O, Juliet

“It is important to understand this period of Irish rebellion, not least because of the light it throws on events in Ireland ever since. England persists in occupying and claiming dominion over Irish soil, and the Catholics of Ulster continue to resist. It may seem that the policies of Henry VIII and his daughter Elizabeth are quaint echoes of the past, but the spirit of courage and defiance that animated rebels such as Hugh O’Neill and Grace O’Malley still lives in countless Irish hearts today.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“Most congenial, the booleying life, though never as exciting as the sea. Sure”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“Now the harpist and bard had taken their places under the roof of the three-sided booley house, and guests were wandering from the table to hear them play and sing.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“Era riuscita a tenere con se un pezzo dell'anima di sua madre, che avrebbe per sempre fatto parte di lei, una spina dorsale per mantenerla forte negli anni a venire, un secondo cuore che avrebbe battuto nel suo petto.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“I remember a fierce debate that my father and Gilleduff had one afternoon sittin’ over the roast at the long booley table. They were talkin’ of King Henry the Eighth’s “Surrender and Regrant” program, a topic of unrivaled possibility for disagreement—a rare bounty for two men who’d give their right arms for a good argument. “Most of the other chieftains in Connaught have succumbed already,” said Gilleduff, and Henry calls himself ‘King of Ireland.’” “King Henry is a buffoon,” Owen snapped. “He could’ve been a great man, comin’ as he did from good Welsh stock, but he’s so addled with women he has no time for important things.” “The way I see it,” Gilleduff said, “is that England—no matter how bloody or ignorant its king—will conquer Ireland in the end, for one reason and one reason alone.” “And what is that?” demanded my father. “Centralized government. Loyalty from all—or most—of the great lords of the land to one ruler. What have we got here? A hundred chieftains who think of themselves as the ‘High King’ of a valley, four hills, and a lake. And every one of ’em, ’cept you and me, are murderin’ and thievin’ and pillagin’ one another year after bloody year. We’ve weakened ourselves so miserably, it’s no wonder that when the chiefs are offered the English titles, they take ’em.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“news arrived several days later of the appalling defeat of Elizabeth’s army by the Irish rebels at Blackwater Fort—a defeat now infamously known as the Battle of the Yellow Ford. The Earl of Tyrone—indeed he had taken the title of The O’Neill—was being hailed as the King of Ireland, and he had quickly and with frightening ease begun bringing all of that blighted country under his control. His armies—unbelievable that they could be called armies at all—had streamed south into Leinster and Munster, overrunning the Pale and the plantations till there was hardly an English settler left in Ireland who was not dead or running for his life. All over the country the Crown’s armies, foolishly packed with Irish recruits, soon found those soldiers turning coat and defecting to the other side, most of them carrying with them their English weapons. The shock and horror of The Yellow Ford had, in one afternoon, seen Henry Bagenal and two thousand of his men slaughtered, and brought England to its knees. ’Twas unthinkable, but Ireland was on the brink of being lost to a pack of ragged rebels! Elizabeth, humiliated and furious, had raged at her council to do something.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“Is there no such thing as a loyal courtier? I think not.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“During the writing of this book, I found myself questioning why the sixteenth-century history of the Irish-English conflict—“the Mother of All the Irish Rebellions”—has been utterly ignored or forgotten. This episode was by far the largest of Elizabeth’s wars and the last significant effort of her reign. It was also the most costly in English lives lost, both common and noble. By some estimates, the rebellion resulted in half the population of Ireland dying through battle, famine, and disease, and the countryside—through the burning of forestland—was changed forever. Yet almost no one studies it, writes of it, or discusses it, even as the impact of that revolt continues to make headlines across the world more than four hundred years later. Likewise, few people outside Ireland have ever heard of Grace O’Malley, surely one of the most outrageous and extraordinary personalities of her century—at least as fascinating a character as her contemporary and sparring partner Elizabeth I. Of course history is written by the victors, and England was, by all accounts, the winner of the Irish Rebellion of the sixteenth century. But the mystery only deepens when we learn that the only contemporary knowledge we have of Grace’s exploits—other than through Irish tradition and legend—is recorded not in Ireland’s histories, but by numerous references and documentation in England’s Calendar of State Papers, as well as numerous official dispatches sent by English captains and governors such as Lords Sidney, Maltby, and Bingham. As hard as it is to believe, Grace O’Malley’s name never once appears in the most important Irish history of the day, The Annals of the Four Masters. Even in the two best modern books on the Irish Rebellion—Cyril Fall’s Elizabeth’s Irish Wars and Richard Berleth’s The Twilight Lords—there is virtually no mention made of her. Tibbot Burke receives only slightly better treatment. Why is this? Anne Chambers, author of my two “bibles” on the lives of Grace O’Malley (Granuaile: The Life and Times of Grace O’Malley) and Tibbot Burke (Chieftain to Knight)—the only existing biographies of mother and son—suggests that as for the early historians, they might have had so little regard for women in general that Grace’s exclusion would be expected. As for the modern historians, it is troubling that in their otherwise highly detailed books, the authors should ignore such a major player in the history of the period. It”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“Why did Cromwell do it? Did he not twist and overwork the law and man’s reasoning beyond imagining to make my marriage to Henry possible?” “You forget he is a butterfly taken up by which ever wind is the strongest.” “Yes, and there is only one wind in England,” said I bitterly. “Its name is Henry.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

“I whispered to my mother that if I were forced to marry the snot-nosed little thug, I’d do as Brigid of Kildare had done when pressed to marry—thrust her finger into her eye, pullin’ it from the socket till it dangled from her cheek. Marriage, I thought. Me, a married woman. Impossible! And wife of a chieftain at that, for the truth was, my intended was tanaist of the O’Flaherty clan. This meant that—as tradition dictated—when the current O’Flaherty chieftain died an election would be held by the septs for the title.”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley

“The summers were a sight better, for we moved—the lot of us—outdoors to my father’s booleys. These were makeshift structures, long and narrow, and thatched with rushes, built new each year and set in the midst of our upland pastures amongst our herds. Aye, we lived with our animals, somethin’ the English could never fathom. But it was a marvelous thing, livin’ so close to the land with the very beasts that were so great a source of our wealth. ’Twas very green and the weather soft, and the booley house smelled of fresh rushes. The women would spin and weave. And sometimes we’d hunt with our hounds, or hawk with our falcons. There”
― Robin Maxwell, The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O'Malley