“Paddy was just one of many wanderers on strange, lonely quests, striking out on mysterious missions, most of whom had left no traces.”
― Walking the Woods and the Water: In Patrick Leigh Fermor's footsteps from the Hook of Holland to the Golden Horn
― Walking the Woods and the Water: In Patrick Leigh Fermor's footsteps from the Hook of Holland to the Golden Horn
“After dinner, Sammie Franklin and he got into an argument about vermouths. Sammie said the drier the vermouth, the more one had to put into a martini, although he admitted he was not a martini drinker. Bruno said he was not a martini drinker either, but he knew better than that. The argument went on even after his grandmother said good night and left them. They were on the upstairs terrace in the dark, his mother in the glider and he and Sammie standing by the parapet. Bruno ran down to the bar for the ingredients to prove his point. They both made martinis and tasted them, and though it was clear Bruno was right, Sammie kept holding out, and chuckling as if he didn't quite mean what he said either, which Bruni found insufferable”
― Strangers on a Train
― Strangers on a Train
“That feeling about trains, for instance. Of course he had long outgrown the boyish glamour of the steam-engine. Yet there was something that had an appeal for him in trains, especially in night-trains, which always put queer, vaguely improper notions in his head - though he would have been hard put to it to define them. Also he had an impression that those who leave by night-trains leave forever - an impression heightened the previous night by his glimpse of those Italians piled into their carriage like emigrants”
― The Man Who Watched Trains Go By
― The Man Who Watched Trains Go By
“It would be good now, I thought, to be in Paris. The afternoon city heat would have gone. It would be good to sit under the trees near the marionette theatre. It would be quiet there now. There would be no one there but a student or two reading. There you could listen to the rustle of leaves unconscious of the pains of humanity in labour, of a civilisation hastening to its own destruction. There, away from this brassy sea and blood-red earth, you could contemplate the twentieth-century tragedy unmoved; unmoved except by pity for mankind fighting to save itself from the primeval ooze that welled from its own subconscious being.”
― Epitaph for a Spy
― Epitaph for a Spy
“At this point doubts started to creep in. One was always reading of
young men running away to sea, or people shipping as deck-hands and
working their passages. There seemed to be no special qualifications
needed. No ropes had to be spliced. No rigging had to be climbed. All
you did was paint the anchor, chip rust off the deck plating and say
'aye, aye, sir', when addressed by an officer. It was a tough life and
you met tough men. There were weevils in the ship's biscuits and you had
little to eat but skilly. Quarrels were settled with bare fists and you
went about naked to the waist. But one of the crew always had a
concertina and there were sing-songs when the day's work was done. In
after life you wrote a book about it.”
― Epitaph for a Spy
young men running away to sea, or people shipping as deck-hands and
working their passages. There seemed to be no special qualifications
needed. No ropes had to be spliced. No rigging had to be climbed. All
you did was paint the anchor, chip rust off the deck plating and say
'aye, aye, sir', when addressed by an officer. It was a tough life and
you met tough men. There were weevils in the ship's biscuits and you had
little to eat but skilly. Quarrels were settled with bare fists and you
went about naked to the waist. But one of the crew always had a
concertina and there were sing-songs when the day's work was done. In
after life you wrote a book about it.”
― Epitaph for a Spy
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