British Literature Quotes

“London on a gloomy and rainy day is still better than Paris on a bright and sunny day.”
― Mouloud Benzadi

“What the hell. If you had to go, why not go with style?”
― Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

“Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,
For that your self ye daily such doe see:
But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me.
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be,
Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew:
But onely that is permanent and free
From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew.
That is true beautie: that doth argue you
To be divine and borne of heavenly seed:
Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit, from whom al true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made,
All other fayre lyke flowres untymely fade.”
― Edmund Spenser, Amoretti And Epithalamion

“Can you read?" the boy said at last.
"Of course," said Arrietty. "Can't you?"
"No," he stammered. "I mean--yes. I mean I've just come from India."
"What's that got to do with it?" asked Arrietty.
"Well, if you're born in India, you're bilingual. And if you're bilingual, you can't read. Not so well."
Arrietty stared up at him: what a monster, she thought, dark against the sky.
"Do you grow out of it?" she asked.
He moved a little and she felt the cold flick of his shadow.
"Oh yes," head said, "it wears off. My sisters were bilingual; now they aren't a bit. They could read any of those books upstairs in the schoolroom."
"So could I," said Arrietty quickly, "if someone could hold them, and turn the pages. I'm not a bit bilingual. I can read anything.”
― Mary Norton, Borrowers

“I have no heart? Perhaps I have not; / But then you're mad to take offense / That I don't give you what I have not got; / Use your own common sense.”
― Christina Rossetti

“Sıradan insan uygarlığın lanetidir.”
― John Fowles, The Collector

“When I feel it my duty to speak an unpalatable truth, with the help of God, I will speak it, though it be to the prejudice of my name and to the detriment of my reader’s immediate pleasure as well as my own.”
― Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

“My flesh and blood...when it rises against me, is not my flesh and blood. I discard it.”
― Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

“The slow discovery of the seventh sense, by which both men and women contrive to ride the waves of a world in which there is war, adultery, compromise, fear, stultification and hypocrisy—this discovery is not a matter for triumph... And at this stage we begin to forget that there ever was a time when we lacked the seventh sense. We begin to forget, as we go stolidly balancing along, that there could have been a time when we were young bodies flaming with the impetus of life. It is hardly consoling to remember such a feeling, and so it deadens in our minds.

But there was a time when each of us stood naked before the world, confronting life as a serious problem with which we were intimately and passionately concerned. There was a time when it was of vital interest to us to find out whether there was a God or not... Further back, there were times when we wondered with all our souls what the world was, what love was, what we were ourselves.

All these problems and feelings fade away when we get the seventh sense. Middle-aged people can balance between believing in God and breaking all the commandments, without difficulty. The seventh sense, indeed, slowly kills all the other ones, so that at last there is no trouble about the commandments. We cannot see any more, or feel, or hear about them. The bodies which we loved, the truths which we sought, the Gods whom we questioned: we are deaf and blind to them now, safely and automatically
balancing along toward the inevitable grave, under the protection of our last sense.”
― T.H. White, CliffsNotes on White's the Once and Future King

“How annoyed I am with Society for wasting my time by making homosexuality criminal. The subterfuges, the self-consciousness that might have been avoided”
― E.M. Forster

“Mrs. Charteris used to say that if we spent our spare time growing flowers instead of talking a lot of nonsense, the world would be a happier place...”
― Reginald Arkell, Old Herbaceous

“Only the poor remained, those who had no money and nowhere else to go. Another governor, more merchants and soldiers would come to take the place of those that left. But the poor always stayed. They always stayed put. And they always stayed poor.”
― Charles Cordell, The Keys of Hell and Death

“The horse’s hooves crashed out on the stone floor, echoing in the arched entrance. Ahead, the nave stretched, vast, empty, bathed in colour; the winter sun streaming through stained glass between great arches. The horse snorted, its measured steps ringing out on the flagstones and tombs.”
― Charles Cordell, Desecration: Winchester 1642

“The gun stood on its platform, staring out over the breastwork of earth and timber, out across the steep valley to the hill beyond; a flat-topped hill, a great field of wheat laid over it, ripening and shimmering in the late afternoon sun; a cornfield filled with an army, a Cornish army, a superstitious, idolatrous army; an army of half-wild, barbarous heathens; a cornfield and an army to be cut down; a sacrifice to be reaped. 'For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.”
― Charles Cordell, The Keys of Hell and Death

“Grenville's line of Cornishmen swayed and lurched, a low growl running through the ranks like a storm far out at sea, the boulders grinding as the waves built. And then it burst, men yelling, shaking their weapons in the air, the pikes clashing, thumping the ground, shouting, demanding, exclaiming, 'Kernow vedn keskerras!' Cornwall will march!”
― Charles Cordell, The Keys of Hell and Death

“But God knew how he missed the sea. He missed it in the sun, in the wind and the dark. He even missed the hiss of rain sweeping across it. He missed the dancing sunlight, its ever-shifting tint and hue, scudding cloud and shadow – dappled, ruffled, heaving, waves ridden by white horses, spume streaked, fierce and shrieking. He missed its limitless, open call, its ungoverned, unchecked freedom, the pull of the horizon, an unknown shore, clarity and unfathomable deep. Most of all he missed the 'mordroz': the sound of the sea, its soothing whisper, its pounding drum, its howling fury. For the sea called to him still; it was in his blood, wanted him back, sucked at his soul, clawing, smothering, dragging him down, a restless lover, a shining temptress that could never be sated.”
― Charles Cordell, The Keys of Hell and Death

“I would like my personal reading map to resemble a map of the British Empire circa 1900; I'd like people to look at it and think, 'How the hell did he end up right over there?”
― Nick Hornby

“Il suo gusto per i libri era stato precoce. Da bambino, a volte un paggio lo trovava, a mezzanotte, ancora intento a leggere. [...] Per dirla in breve, Orlando era un nobile malato d'amore per la letteratura.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“And I saw how foolish I had been to fuss and worry about 'the right approach' because of course 'the right approach' to all our fellow creatures is just to love them.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Anna and Her Daughters

“We were impressed by the way The Boys generally got up when we came into the room, unless they were really overwhelmed by work or telephone calls. 'Is that American or is it homosexual?' Abigail wondered. Anyway, I said, I felt we should tell them there was no need.”
― Muriel Spark, A Far Cry from Kensington

“In Frederick Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy Jack's father, Mr. Easy, became a(n) ____________ as it was the very best profession a man can take up who is fit for nothing else. ”
― Frederick Marryat, Mr. Midshipman Easy

“Serve Britannia (The Sonnet)

Let us build a new Britain,
A Britain with actual heart's beauty,
Where we shall right our wrongs,
Instead of boasting our atrocities.
Let us build a new Britain,
Where commoners are king and queen,
Where unlike our tribal ancestors,
Our habit is not occupation but caring.
Let us herald a new Britain,
Where there is no exit only inclusion,
Where no one bows to no one for honor,
And each lives with self-determination.
Serve Britannia! Britannia, serve as aid.
Britain never again shall make others slave.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Making Britain Civilized: How to Gain Readmission to The Human Race

“Lei giacque tra le sue braccia per tutta la notte, sentendosi sedotta, protetta e amata. Si chiese quando la vita fosse diventata tanto dolce. Percepì che qualcosa di meraviglioso stava iniziando.”
― Caroline Roberts

“Jane Austen's profound concern with good manners was thus not simply a reflection of a cloistered gentility: it was a form of politics -- an involvement with a widespread attempt to save the nation by correcting, monitoring, and elevating its morals.”
― Tony Tanner, Jane Austen

“Britain may have a few things to take pride in, Conan Doyle and Doctor Who to name a few - but colonialism is not one of them.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Vande Vasudhaivam: 100 Sonnets for Our Planetary Pueblo

“An exciting minute-by-minute story of the English Civil War … from the soldier’s point of view … the historical accuracy is fantastic … the storyline and writing style tremendously exciting.”
― Historical Novels Review

“Charles Cordell, a former soldier, writes with bravura confidence.”
― The Times

“My World of Fiction (The Sonnet, 1656)

I'm a sucker for mystery stories,
I've been since my adolescent days.
But I never picked up a novel in my life
My world of fiction lives in radio plays.

Never have I had the patience to sit
through hours of fiction reading.
So I dig up classic radio dramas,
to keep me company while writing.

Unfortunately America never quite
mastered the art of radio theatre,
so when I think of radio drama,
I think Radio 4 and Radio 4 extra.

Also, I detaste post-apocalyptic fiction,
Pilgrim of life I, find them most drab.
Modern world is lifeless enough as it is,
I detaste the romanticizing of graveyard.

Nevertheless, fiction does matter,
One way or another fiction matters.
Naskarean universe is non-fiction,
Yet I say, fiction indeed matters.”
― Abhijit Naskar, The Divine Refugee

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