Eric Newby > Quotes

“In India even the most mundane inquiries have a habit of ending this way. There may be two answers, there may be five, a dozen or a hundred; the only thing that is certain is that all will be different.”
― Eric Newby, Slowly Down the Ganges

“I was heavily involved on all fronts: with mountaineering outfitters, who oddly enough never fathomed the depths of my ignorance; possibly because they couldn’t conceive of anyone acquiring such a collection of equipment without knowing how to use it…”
― Eric Newby, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush

“As the sun rose I could see Etna, a truncated cone with a plume of smoke over it like the quill of a pen stuck in a pewter inkpot, rising out of the haze to the north of where I was treading water.”
― Eric Newby, Love and War in the Apennines

“Mustering this sad, mutinous little force, I drove them before me up the Linar gorge, cursing the lot of them. It was not difficult for me to work up a rage at this moment. All of a sudden I felt that revulsion against an alien way of life that anyone who travels in remote places experiences from time to time. I longed for clean clothes; the company of people who meant what they said, and did it. I longed for a hot bath and a drink.”
― Eric Newby, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush

“he was no mountaineer when he decided to climb the Hindu Kush. A few days scrambling on the rocks in Wales, enchantingly chronicled here, were his sole preparation. It was not mountaineering that attracted him; the Alps abound in opportunities for every exertion of that kind. It was the longing, romantic, reasonless, which lies deep in the hearts of most Englishmen, to shun the celebrated spectacles of the tourist and without any concern with science or politics or commerce, simply to set their feet where few civilized feet have trod. An American critic who read the manuscript of this book condemned it as ‘too English’. It is intensely English, despite the fact that most of its action takes place in wildly foreign places and that it is written in an idiomatic, uncalculated manner the very antithesis of ‘Mandarin’ stylishness. It rejoices the heart of fellow Englishmen, and should at least illuminate those who have any curiosity about the odd character of our Kingdom. It exemplifies the essential traditional (some, not I, will say deplorable) amateurism of the English. For more than two hundred years now Englishmen have been wandering about the world for their amusement, suspect everywhere as government agents, to the great embarrassment of our officials. The Scotch endured great hardships in the cause of commerce; the French in the cause of either power or evangelism. The English only have half (and wholly) killed themselves in order to get away from England. Mr Newby is the latest, but, I pray, not the last, of a whimsical tradition. And in his writing he has all the marks of his not entirely absurd antecedents. The understatement, the self-ridicule, the delight in the foreignness of foreigners, the complete denial of any attempt to enlist the sympathies of his readers in the hardships he has capriciously invited; finally in his formal self-effacement in the presence of the specialist (with the essential reserve of unexpressed self-respect) which concludes, almost too abruptly, this beguiling narrative – in all these qualities Mr Newby has delighted the heart of a man whose travelling days are done and who sees, all too often, his countrymen represented abroad by other, new and (dammit) lower types. Dear reader, if you have any softness left for the idiosyncrasies of our rough island race, fall to and enjoy this characteristic artifact. EVELYN”
― Eric Newby, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush: An unforgettable travel adventure across Afghanistan's landscapes

“It is not pleasant to be disliked,' he said, 'and it is very unpleasant to be German and to know that one is hated because one is German and because, collectively, we are wrong in what we are doing. That is why I hate this war, or one of the reasons. And of course, because of this, we shall lost it. We must. We have to.”
― Eric Newby, Love and War in the Apennines

“Bhogpur is two kos from Bhagmalpur," he said. If Bhogpur is two kos from Bhagmalpur, then it may be possible to make a reasonable guess at our position. It depended on what he meant by a kos.
"There are seventy rassis in one kos," Karam Chand said.
"There are twelve hundred laggis in one kos," said Bhosla in a sudden garrulous outburst.
"There are three thousand six hundred gaj in one kos, said Jagganath, the youngest boatman.
"Now I am telling you," said G. "If one kos is three thousand six hundred gaj, there are three miles and eighty yards in one kos." If this was so, we had not travelled more than five miles since the previous morning.*
* There is also a gaukos, a rather vague measure - the distance a cow's bellow can be heard.”
― Eric Newby, Slowly Down the Ganges

“rendered doubly barbarous by being thwarted,”
― Eric Newby, On the Shores of the Mediterranean

“In the great court, surrounded by broken-down droshkies and the skeletons of German motor-buses, we spread our sleeping-bags on the oily ground beside our vehicle. For the first time since leaving Istanbul we had achieved Hugh’s ambition to sleep ‘under the stars’.”
― Eric Newby

“For the memory is selective and it is easier to remember what one wants to remember, so if I have to chose between the splendour and the miseries, I will chose the moments of happiness in spite of the fact that there are few situations in which men and women are completely happy and completely free.”
― Eric Newby, A Small Place in Italy

“But in spite of the stones it was marvellous to be working up on the Pian del Sotto: going out on to it while the morning star was still shining brilliantly in a sky that was the colour of blue-black ink; seeing the sun coming up behind Bismantova, below and far away, first illuminating the forest on the mountainside above, then flooding the plateau; sometimes rising behind dark clouds and then shining red through a hole in one of them, as if someone had opened the door of a furnace. And I liked being there when the sun was high overhead and torn white and grey clouds were racing over the mountain top from the west casting dark shadows on the pale fields, and hordes of starlings would swoop over them, and high over everything a goshawk as pale as the clouds and with wing-tips as ragged-looking as they were, soared on the wind which sighed in the trees like the wind in the rigging of a sailing-ship. And I liked it, too, when the sun had gone behind the mountain and everything on the plateau was in shadow and there was a smoky blueness in the woods which were still so green in the sunlight that it was difficult to believe that autumn had come and was well advanced.”
― Eric Newby, Love and War in the Apennines

“To attempt to write about Dun Aengus and bring some sort of freshness to it is rather like trying to perform a similar service for Stonehenge: so many people have attempted it before that one is tempted to give up what one is looking at is not only one of the wonders of Ireland, but of the entire Western world.”
― Eric Newby, Round Ireland in Low Gear

“And what are you thinking of doing now?’ my helpmeet and companion in life’s race asked me when we were back on the road.”
― Eric Newby, Round Ireland in Low Gear

“Perhaps one of the most disagreeable features”
― Eric Newby, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush: An unforgettable travel adventure across Afghanistan's landscapes

“At midnight on the 4th the wind was north-north-east, force 7. Down to topsails now, her upper and lower yards naked, gleaming yellow like great bones in the moonlight, the ship was a terrible wild stranger to us. At the wheel a Swede and a Dane were fighting to hold her as she ran 13 and 14 knots in the gusts. I knew then that I would never see sailing like this again. When such ships as this went it would be the finish. The windbelts of the world would be deserted and the great West Wind and the Trades would never blow on steel rigging and flax canvas again.”
― Eric Newby, The Last Grain Race

“Driving in clouds of dust and darkness beyond the outer suburbs the self-starter began to smoke. Grovelling under the vehicle among the ants and young scorpions, fearful of losing our feet when the great American lorries roared past, we attained the feeling of comradeship that only comes in moments of adversity.”
― Eric Newby

“the Muslim farmers in the coastal plain, and carried on an interminable sort of predatory warfare with their immediate neighbours, this being the principal justification for existence of all Epirots and Albanians, whether Christian or Muslim.”
― Eric Newby, On the Shores of the Mediterranean