English Literature Quotes

“She'd become an English major for the purest and dullest of reasons: because she loved to read.”
― Jeffrey Eugenides, The Marriage Plot

“What else can I do? Once you've gone this far you aren't fit for anything else. Something happens to your mind. You're overqualified, overspecialized, and everybody knows it. Nobody in any other game would be crazy enough to hire me. I wouldn't even make a good ditch-digger, I'd start tearing apart the sewer-system, trying to pick-axe and unearth all those chthonic symbols - pipes, valves, cloacal conduits... No, no. I'll have to be a slave in the paper-mines for all time.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Edible Woman

“Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new-create another heir
As great in admiration as herself.”
― William Shakespeare, Henry VIII

“ESTRAGON: We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?

VLADIMIR: (impatiently). Yes, yes, we’re magicians. But let us persevere in what we have resolved, before we forget.”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“Ninety-nine per cent of traditional English literature concerns people who never have to worry about money at all. We always seem to be watching or reading about emotional crises among folk who live in a world of great fortune both in matters of luck and money; stories and fantasies about rock stars and film stars, sporting millionaires and models; jet-setting members of the aristocracy and international financiers.”
― James Kelman

“But why," he said with animation, "do the English not read their own great literature?"
Victor laughed triumphantly, and said, "Because at school they are made to hate it.”
― Olaf Stapledon, A Man Divided

“...the wise words of a friend and guide rang in my head. 'How would you distinguish a true servant of God from a traitor?...You should take especial notice of how a person speaks, not of other things, but of God.”
― Harry Blamires, Highway to Heaven

“What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind..."
from "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”
― William Wordsworth, Ode : Intimations of immortality from recollections of early childhood, by William Wordsworth. 1884 [Leather Bound]

“He was thoughtful and grave----but the order he gave, were enough to bewilder a crew.”
― Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark

“Estou crescendo”, pensou, pegando, afinal, na candeia. “Estou perdendo algumas ilusões”, disse, fechando o livro da rainha Maria, “talvez para adquirir outras”, e desceu por entre as tumbas onde jaziam os ossos de seus antepassados.
(...)
“Estou crescendo”, pensou, pegando a sua vela. “Estou perdendo as minhas ilusões, talvez para adquirir novas”, e foi atravessando a longa galeria, em direção ao seu quarto. Era um processo desagradável e fastidioso. Mas era assombrosamente interessante, pensou, estirando as pernas para o fogo de lenha (já que não havia nenhum marinheiro presente), e passou em revista, como a uma avenida de grandes edifícios, o progresso de si mesma, ao longo de seu próprio passado.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Isso é opinião de alguns filósofos e sábios mas nós temos outra. A diferença entre os sexos tem, felizmente, um sentido muito profundo. As roupas são meros símbolos de alguma coisa profundamente oculta. Foi uma transformação do próprio Orlando que lhe ditou a escolha das roupas de mulher e do sexo feminino. E talvez nisso ela estivesse expressando apenas um pouco mais abertamente do que é usual – a franqueza, na verdade, era a sua principal característica – algo que acontece a muita gente sem ser assim claramente expressa. Pois aqui de novo nos encontramos com um dilema. Embora diferentes, os sexos se confundem. Em cada ser humano ocorre uma vacilação entre um sexo e outro, e, às vezes só as roupas conservam a aparência masculina ou feminina, quando, interiormente, o sexo está em completa oposição como que se encontra à vista. Cada um sabe por experiência as confusões e complicações que disso resultam, mas deixemos aqui o problema geral, e observemos somente o seu singular efeito no caso particular de Orlando.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Quando isso aconteceu, Orlando deu um suspiro de alívio, acendeu um cigarro e soprou em silêncio um ou dois minutos. Depois, chamou hesitante, como se a pessoa que procurasse pudesse não estar ali: “Orlando?” Pois se há (por acaso) 76 tempos diferentes, todos pulsando simultaneamente na cabeça, quantas pessoas diferentes não haverá – valha-nos o céu -, todas morando, num tempo ou noutro, no espírito humano? Alguns dizem que 2052. De modo que é a coisa mais natural do mundo uma pessoa chamar, logo que fique sozinha, “Orlando?” (se esse é o seu nome), querendo com isso dizer “Vem, vem! Estou mortalmente cansada deste eu. Preciso de outro”. Daí as mudanças assombrosas que vemos em nossos amigos. Mas isso também não é muito fácil, pois, embora se possa dizer, como Orlando disse (achando-se no campo, e necessitando talvez de outro eu), “Orlando?”, o Orlando de que ela necessita pode não vir; esses eus de que somos constituídos, sobrepostos uns aos outros como pratos empilhados na mão do copeiro, têm suas predileções, simpatias, pequenos códigos e direitos próprios, chamem-se como quiserem (e muitas dessas coisas não têm nome), de modo que um só virá se estiver chovendo, outro, se for num quarto com cortinas verdes, outro, se a sra. Jones não estiver lá, outro, se lhe pudermos prometer um copo de vinho – e assim por diante; pois cada pessoa pode multiplicar com a sua própria existência as diferentes condições que impõe os seus diferentes eus – e algumas, de tão ridículas, nem podem ser impressas em letra de fôrma.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Poetry is a distinct category of language—a special way of speaking that invites and rewards a special way of listening.”
― Dana Gioia

“Poetry simultaneously addresses our intellect and our physical senses, our emotions, imagination, intuition, and memory without asking us to divide them.”
― Dana Gioia, Poetry as Enchantment

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― Quotes & Notes

“I felt worse now, for having known love and losing it, than I ever did in those hours of lonely despair.”
― Chris Priestley, Mister Creecher

“Hearts on the shore were overconfident enough to take the chills and thrills.”
― Akshat Pathak, Strangers to the Quietus!: The Three Rangers of the Mortal Coil...

“Misery and a nameless nostalgic distress possessed him.”
― Aldous Huxley, Crome Yellow

“Each thing called improvement seems blackened with crimes,
If it tears up one record of blissful old times.”
― Susanna Blamire

“For thousands of years, poetry was taught badly, and consequently it was immensely popular.”
― Dana Gioia, Poetry as Enchantment

“The purpose of literary education is not to produce more professors; its goal is to develop capable and complete human beings.”
― Dana Gioia, Poetry as Enchantment

“Why was I always excited about things other people did not care about?”
― Robertson Davies, Fifth Business

“How do you recognise a Glaswegian in English literature? He's the cut-out figure who wields a razor-blade, gets moroculous drunk and never has a single, solitary 'thought' in his entire life. He beats his wife and beats his kids and beats his next door neighbour. And another striking thing; everybody from a Glaswegian or working-class background, everybody in fact from any regional part of Britain -none of them knew how to talk! Unlike the nice, stalwart upper-class English hero whose words on the page were always absolutely splendidly proper and pure and pristinely accurate whether in dialogue or without. Most interesting of all, for myself as a writer, the narrative belonged to them and them alone. They owned it. The place where thought and spiritual life exists.”
― James Kelman, Some Recent Attacks: Essays Cultural & Political

“I happened to pen some literature, alas, in an utterly unliterary era.”
― B.S. Murthy

“Flame, ignited with zest,
Fear and excitement intertwine.
How did I land in this chaos?
Yet, I’m loving this stress.

Full of life while dying every moment.
Go away, but stay.
Speak, but with silence.
You my energy and my sink.

Guess who goes back to the start?
Only if you’re willing to cross the sufferings.
All over? Okay but once again.

Mohammad Hafiz”
― Mohammad Hafiz Ganie

“After dinner, they walked through Trafalgar Square, which was also very busy, with its stunning fountains and eye-catching statues attracting crowds of visitors. Some of these visitors enjoyed feeding pigeons and taking pictures with them.
They left the noisy sounds of the square behind and walked slowly towards St. James' Park to seek the sound of silence for a change before heading home. Unlike Trafalgar Square and the surrounding areas, the park was engulfed in silence, interrupted only by the sounds of ducks and swans that moved suddenly in the pond as they approached it. As they sat on a bench facing the beautiful, peaceful pond that seemed to be in deep sleep, Alina sighed.
“I miss this peace and silence. I don't think I can continue to live in the city.”
“I feel the same,” he said as he laid his hand on hers, gazing out at the night. “I’m really delighted that we both like a quiet life. I really love it, although I must admit that I sometimes feel bored if I have to stay in a quiet place for too long. I guess it’s human nature. You can never please humans. No matter what the weather—shine or rain—some will always complain! Humans are so hard to please that even if you grant them an eternal easy life in Paradise, some will still want to go back to Earth, even if living on Earth means struggling, starving, bleeding, and suffering!”
“I’m really impressed that you like a quiet life despite the fact that you were brought up in a large city...”
― Mouloud Benzadi

“If accuracy, fidelity, and the strictest attention to the letter of the text, be supposed to constitute the qualities of an excellent version, this of all versions, must, in general, be accounted the most excellent. Every sentence, every word, every syllable, and every letter and point, seems to have been weighed with the nicest exactitude; and expressed, either in the text, or margin, with the greatest precision”
― Father Alexander Geddes

“چیپس، غالبا همین که در خانه ی خانم ویکِت کنار بخاری می نشست به این فکر می افتاد که: احتمالا من تنها آدمی در جهان هستم که خاطره ای گنگ از وزربی پیر در ذهن دارد.... خاطره ای گنگ. آن روز تابستانی که پرتو آفتاب از غبار مملو در هوای اتاق کار آقای وزربی گذر می کرد تصویری بود که به کرّات در ذهن او ظاهر می شد.(( تو جوانی آقای چیپسینگ و بروکفیلد مدرسه ای کهنسال. جوانی و کهنسالی غالبا ترکیبی خوب می سازند. همه ی شور و شوقت را به بروکفیلد نثار کن، و بروکفیلد، در عوض، چیزی به تو خواهد داد. و اصلا اجازه نده کسی سر به سرت بگذارد.))”
― James Hilton, Good-Bye Mr. Chips

“هر یکشنبه شب، پس از مراسم شامگاه در نمازخانه ی مدرسه، چتریس نام شاگردان قدیمی را که در جنگ کشته شده بودند می خواند و زندگینامه ی کوتاهی از آنها را چاشنی سخن می کرد. بسیار هیجان انگیز بود؛ اما چیپس، نشسته بر نیمکت دراز نمازخانه، به خود می گفت: برای چتریس آنها چیزی جز نام نیستند؛ او قیافه ی آنها را آن طور که من می بینم، نمی بیند....”
― James Hilton, Good-Bye Mr. Chips

“We may even conclude it to be an evidence of strength, rather than of weakness, that the Scots language and the Scottish literature did not maintain a separate existance. Scottish, throwing in its luck with English, has not only much greater chance of survival, but contributes important elements of strength to complete the English...”
― T.S. Eliot