Contrarywise > Contrarywise's Quotes

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  • #1
    Elizabeth Taylor
    “the problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure there going to have some pretty annoying virtues”
    Elizabeth Taylor

  • #2
    H.G. Wells
    “The forceps of our minds are clumsy forceps, and crush the truth a little in taking hold of it.”
    H.G. Wells

  • #3
    Stephen Fry
    “Sometimes there just isn't enough vomit in the world.”
    Stephen Fry

  • #4
    Stephen Fry
    “The alarm in the morning? Well, I have an old tape of Carlo Maria Giulini conducting the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra in a perfectly transcendent version in Shubert's seventh symphony. And I've rigged it up so that at exactly 7:30 every morning it falls from the ceiling onto my face.”
    Stephen Fry

  • #5
    Stephen Fry
    “Old professors never die, they just lose their faculties.”
    Stephen Fry

  • #6
    Tom Shippey
    “The dominant literary mode of the twentieth century has been the fantastic. This may appear a surprising claim, which would not have seemed even remotely
    conceivable at the start of the century and which is bound to encounter fierce resistance even now. However, when the time comes to look back at the century, it seems very likely that future literary historians, detached from the squabbles of our present, will see as its most representative and distinctive works books like J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and also George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm, William Golding’s Lord of the Flies and The Inheritors, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat’s Cradle, Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot-49 and Gravity’s Rainbow. The list could readily be extended, back to the late nineteenth century with H.G. Wells’s The Island of Dr Moreau and The War of the Worlds, and up to writers currently active like Stephen R. Donaldson and George R.R. Martin. It could take in authors as different, not to say opposed, as Kingsley and Martin Amis, Anthony Burgess, Stephen King, Terry Pratchett, Don DeLillo, and Julian Barnes. By the end of the century, even authors deeply committed to the realist novel have often found themselves unable to resist the gravitational pull of the fantastic as a literary mode.

    This is not the same, one should note, as fantasy as a literary genre – of the authors listed above, only four besides Tolkien would find their works regularly placed on the ‘fantasy’ shelves of bookshops, and ‘the fantastic’ includes many genres besides fantasy: allegory and parable, fairy-tale, horror and science fiction, modern ghost-story and medieval romance. Nevertheless, the point remains.
    Those authors of the twentieth century who have spoken most powerfully to and for their contemporaries have for some reason found it necessary to use the metaphoric mode of fantasy, to write about worlds and creatures which we know do not exist, whether Tolkien’s ‘Middle-earth’, Orwell’s ‘Ingsoc’, the remote islands of Golding and Wells, or the Martians and Tralfa-madorians who burst into peaceful English or American suburbia in Wells and Vonnegut. A ready explanation for this phenomenon is of course that it represents a kind of literary disease, whose sufferers – the millions of readers of fantasy – should be scorned, pitied, or rehabilitated back to correct and proper taste. Commonly the disease is said to be ‘escapism’: readers and writers of fantasy are fleeing from reality. The problem with this is that so many of the originators of the later twentieth-century fantastic mode, including all four of those first mentioned above (Tolkien, Orwell, Golding, Vonnegut) are combat veterans, present at or at least deeply involved in the most traumatically significant events of the century, such as the Battle of the Somme (Tolkien), the bombing of Dresden (Vonnegut), the rise and early victory of fascism (Orwell). Nor can anyone say that they turned their backs on these events. Rather, they had to find some way of communicating and commenting on them. It is strange that this had, for some reason, in so many cases to involve fantasy as well as realism, but that is what has happened.”
    Tom Shippey, J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century

  • #7
    Evelyn Waugh
    “Old boy," said Grimes, "you're in love."
    "Nonsense!"
    "Smitten?" said Grimes.
    "No, no."
    "The tender passion?"
    "No."
    "Cupid's jolly little darts?"
    "No."
    "Spring fancies, love's young dream?"
    "Nonsense!"
    "Not even a quickening of the pulse?"
    "No."
    "A sweet despair?"
    "Certainly not."
    "A trembling hope?"
    "No."
    "A frisson? a Je ne sais quoi?"
    "Nothing of the sort."
    "Liar!" said Grimes.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall

  • #8
    Evelyn Waugh
    “My father greeted me with his usual air of mild regret.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

  • #9
    Evelyn Waugh
    “There will be a prize of half a crown for the longest essay, irrespective of any possible merit.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall

  • #10
    Evelyn Waugh
    “The Pension Dressler stood in a side street and had, at first glance, the air rather of a farm than of a hotel. Frau Dressler's pig, tethered by one hind trotter to the jamb of the front door, roamed the yard and disputed the kitchen scraps with the poultry. He was a prodigious beast. Frau Dressler's guests prodded him appreciatively on the way to the dining-room, speculating on how soon he would be ripe for killing. The milch-goat was allowed a narrower radius; those who kept strictly to the causeway were safe, but she never reconciled herself to this limitation and, day in, day out, essayed a series of meteoric onslaughts on the passers-by, ending, at the end of her rope, with a jerk which would have been death to an animal of any other species. One day the rope would break; she knew it, and so did Frau Dressler's guests.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Scoop
    tags: scoop

  • #11
    Evelyn Waugh
    “Downstairs Peter Beste-Chetwynde mixed himself another brandy and soda and turned a page in Havelock Ellis, which, next to The Wind in the Willows, was his favourite book.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall

  • #12
    Evelyn Waugh
    “Ten men of revolting appearance were approaching from the drive. They were low of brow, crafty of eye, and crooked of limb. They advanced huddled together with the loping tread of wolves, peering about them furtively as they came, as though in constant terror of ambush; they slavered at their mouths, which hung loosely over the receding chins, while each clutched under his ape-like arm a burden of curious and unaccountable shape. On seeing the Doctor they halted and edged back, those behind squinting and moulting over the companions' shoulders.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall

  • #13
    Evelyn Waugh
    “I am reading Proust for the first time. Very poor stuff. I think he was mentally defective.”
    Evelyn Waugh

  • #14
    Evelyn Waugh
    “It was a morning of ethereal splendor—such a morning as Noah knew as he gazed from his pitchy bulwarks over limitless, sunlit waters while the dove circled and mounted and became lost in the shining heavens; such a morning as only the angels saw on the first day of that rash cosmic experiment that had resulted, at the moment, in landing Corker and Pigge here in the mud, stiff and unshaven and disconsolate.”
    Evelyn Waugh, Scoop

  • #15
    Evelyn Waugh
    “To the American, English writers are like prim spinsters fidgeting with the china, punctilious about good taste, and inwardly full of thwarted, tepid and perverse passions.
    We see the Americans as gushing adolescents, repetitive and slangy, rather nasty sometimes in their zest for violence and bad language.”
    Evelyn Waugh, The Essays, Articles and Reviews of Evelyn Waugh

  • #16
    Evelyn Waugh
    “...the sly, sharp instinct for self-preservation that passes for wisdom among the rich.”
    Evelyn Waugh

  • #17
    Evelyn Waugh
    “I'm in the soup!”
    Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall
    tags: humour

  • #18
    Michael Innes
    “In fact this bad baronet died true to the conditions of his kind--mysteriously in his library, at midnight, while a great deal of snow was falling.”
    Michael Innes, What Happened At Hazlewood

  • #19
    Michael Innes
    “Down the five ill-disposed wings of Nesfield University, vaulted, machine-carved, echoing and damp, surged conflicting columns of adolescent humanity, a rout of jostling automotive sponges hurried from pool to pool of a knowledge codified, timetabled and approved.”
    Michael Innes, The Weight Of The Evidence



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