He had no strength for any other war than his own solitary struggle to keep alive.
No one is ever holy without suffering.
Where can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?
He wasn't a complete human being at all. He was a tiny bit of one, unnaturally developed; something in a bottle, an organ kept alive in a laboratory. I thought he was a sort of primitive savage, but he was something absolutely modern and up-to-date that only this ghastly age could produce. A tiny bit of a man pretending to be whole.
O God, make me good, but not yet.
His heart; some long word at the heart. He is dying of a long word.
Rex has never been unkind to me intentionally. It's just that he isn't a real person at all; he's just a few faculties of a man highly developed; the rest simply isn't there.
I felt that I was leaving part of myself behind, and that wherever I went afterwards I should feel the lack of it, and search for it hopelessly, as ghosts are said to do, frequenting the spots where they buried material treasures without which they cannot pay their way to the nether world.
Sometimes, I feel the past and the future pressing so hard on either side that there's no room for the present at all.
I had been there before; I knew all about it.
That was the change in her from ten years ago; that, indeed, was her reward, this haunting, magical sadness which spoke straight to the heart and struck silence; it was the completion of her beauty.
I have a good mind not to take Aloysius to Venice. I don't want him to meet a lot of horrid Italian bears and pick up bad habits.
The cream and hot butter mingled and overflowed separating each glucose bead of caviar from its fellows, capping it in white and gold.
If it could only be like this always - always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper...
Then I knew that the sign I had asked for was not a little thing, not a passing nod of recognition, and a phrase came back to me from my childhood of the veil of the temple being rent from top to bottom.
If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.
These memories, which are my life--for we possess nothing certainly except the past--were always with me.
I've always been bad. Probably I shall be bad again, punished again. But the worse I am, the more I need God. I can't shut myself out from His mercy. ... Or it may be a private bargain between me and God, that if I give up this one thing I want so much, however bad I am, He won't quite despair of me in the end.
Thus strategists hesitate over the map, the few pins and lines of coloured chalk, contemplating a change in the pins and lines, a matter of inches, which outside the room, out of sight of the studious officers, may engulf the past, present and future in ruin or life. She was a symbol to herself then, lacking the life of both child and woman; victory and defeat were changes of pin and line; she knew nothing of war.
My dear, I should like to stick you full of barbed arrows like a p-p-pin cushion...Where do you lurk? I shall come down your burrow and ch-chivvy you out like an old st-t-toat.
To understand all is to forgive all.
No one could really hate a saint, could they? They can't really hate God either. When they want to Hate Him and His saints they have to find something like themselves and pretends it's God and hate that.
Well, you see, she was saintly but she wasn't a saint. No one could really hate a saint, could they? They can't really hate God either. When they want to hate him and his saints they have to find something like themselves and pretend it's God and hate that. I suppose you think that's all bosh.
In the dying world I come from, quotation is a national vice.
Almost all crime is due to the repressed desire for aesthetic expression.
Money is only useful when you get rid of it. It is like the odd card in "Old Maid"; the player who is finally left with it has lost.
The truth is that Oxford is simply a very beautiful city in which it is convenient to segregate a certain number of the young of the nation while they are growing up.
I expect you'll be becoming a schoolmaster sir. That's what most of the gentlemen does sir, that gets sent down for indecent behaviour.
If, for instance, they have heard something from the postman, they attribute it to ''a semi-official statement'' if they have fallen into conversation with a stranger at a bar, they can conscientiously describe him as ''a source that has hitherto proved unimpeachable.'' It is only when the journalist is reporting a whim of his own, and one to which he attaches minor importance, that he defines it as the opinion of ''well-informed circles.''
We class schools into four grades: leading school, first-rate school, good school and school.
More Evelyn Waugh Quotations (Based on Topics)
God - Man - Death & Dying - Past - Sons - Money & Wealth - Sign & Symbol - Change - Age - Vice & Virtue - Present - Sense & Perception - Future - Manner - Life - Efforts - Weather - Judgment - Actions - View All Evelyn Waugh Quotations
More Evelyn Waugh Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Brideshead Revisited
Tony Robbins - Marcel Proust - J. K. Rowling - Henry David Thoreau - F. Scott Fitzgerald - Salvatore Quasimodo - Nicholas Sparks - Mary Higgins Clark - Horatio Alger - Harriet Beecher Stowe