Christopher > Christopher's Quotes

“All over Europe, all over the world, men were spying. While in
government offices other men were tabulating the results of the spies'
labours; thicknesses of armour-plating, elevation angles of guns,
muzzles velocities, details of fire control mechanisms and
range-finders, fuse efficiencies, details of fortifications, positions
of ammunition stores, disposition of key factories, landmarks for
bombers. The world was getting ready to go to war. For the cannon-makers
and for the spies, business was good.”
― Eric Ambler, 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.”
― Eric Ambler, Epitaph for a Spy

“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.”
― Eric Ambler, Epitaph for a Spy

“There was still the dirty snow, piles of it that looked like they were rotting, stained black, peppered with garbage. The white powder that loosed itself from the sky in small handfuls, like plaster falling from a ceiling, never managed to cover up the filth.”
― Simenon Georges

“If a man is clean shaved and has a well-fitting collar and tie - even reasonably dirty - he can get away with a multitude of suspicious circumstances”
― Geoffrey Household

“In these days of visas and identification cards it is impossible to travel without leaving a trail that can, with patience, bribery, and access to public records, be picked up. In the happy years between 1925 and 1930 you could talk yourself over any western European frontier, so long as you looked respectable and explained your movements and business with a few details that could be checked; you could treat frontier police as men of decency and common sense: two virtues that they could then afford to indulge. But now unless a traveller has some organization – subversive or benevolent – to help him, frontiers are an efficient bar to those who find it inconvenient or impossible to show their papers; and even if a frontier be crossed without record, there isn’t the remotest village where a man can live without justifying himself and his reasons for being himself. Thus Europe, for me, was a mere trap with a delayed action.”
― Geoffrey Household

“Tweeds, he soon found, are not in warm weather the ideal clothes for mountain climbing, for that was what his progress soon became. The track grew almost precipitous and he was still further hindered by the loose surface and his package of food and wine. He had been climbing for half an hour when he stopped, ate his lunch, drank his wine and smoked a pipe. Some forty minutes later, much refreshed and free of encumbrance, he continued the ascent in better style.”
― Eric Ambler, The Dark Frontier

“Left alone in an interrogation room, some men will look as though they're well into their last ten seconds before throwing up. And they'll look that way for hours. They sweat like they just climbed out of the swimming pool. They eat and swallow air. I mean these guys are really going through it. You come and tip a light in their face. And they're bugeyed - the orbs both big and red, and faceted also. Little raised soft-cornered squares, wired with rust.
These are the innocent.”
― Martin Amis

“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”
― Patricia Highsmith, Strangers on a Train

“Paddy was just one of many wanderers on strange, lonely quests, striking out on mysterious missions, most of whom had left no traces.”
― Nick Hunt, Walking the Woods and the Water: In Patrick Leigh Fermor's footsteps from the Hook of Holland to the Golden Horn

“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”
― Georges Simenon, The Man Who Watched Trains Go By