The Sot-Weed Factor Quotes

“My dear fellow,' Burlingame said, 'we sit here on a blind rock careening through space; we are all of us rushing headlong to the grave. Think you the worms will care, when anon they make a meal of you, whether you spent your moment sighing wigless in your chamber, or sacked the golden towns of Montezuma? Lookee, the day's nigh spent; 'tis gone careening into time forever. Not a tale's length past we lined our bowels with dinner, and already they growl for more. We are dying men, Ebenezer: i'faith, there's time for naught but bold resolves!”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“All men are loyal, but their objects of allegiance are at best approximate.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Is man a savage at heart, skinned o'er with fragile Manners? Or is savagery but a faint taint in the natural man's gentility, which erupts now and again like pimples on an angel's arse?”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“The difference here 'twixt simple and witty folk, if the truth be known, is that your plain man cares much for what stand ye take and not a fart for why ye take it, while your smart wight leaves ye whate'er stand ye will, sobeit ye defend it cleverly.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“... a man's most useful friend and fearsome foe is the poet.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Ah, God, it were an easy Matter to choose a Calling had
one all Time to live in! I should be fifty Years a
Barrister, fifty a Physician, fifty a Clergyman, fifty a
Soldier! Aye, and fifty a Thief, and fifty a Judge! All
Roads are fine Roads, beloved Sister, none more than
another, so that with one Life to spend I am a Man
bare-bumm'd at Taylors with Cash for but one pair of
Breeches, or a Scholar at Brookstalls with Money for a
single Book: to choose ten were no Trouble; to choose one,
impossible! All Trades, all Crafts, all Professions are
wondrous, but none is finer than the rest together. I
cannot choose, sweet Anna: twixt Stools my Breech falleth
to the Ground!”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Sbodikins! I am wholly fuddled! Eight species of common notebook?"
"Sixteen, sir; sixteen, if I may," Bragg said proudly. "Ye may have
A thin plain cardboard folio,
A thin plain cardboard quarto,
A thin plain leather folio,
A thin ruled cardboard folio,
A fat plain cardboard folio,
A thin plain leather quarto,
A thin ruled cardboard quarto,
A fat plain cardboard quarto,
Athin ruled leather folio,
A fat ruled cardboard folio,
A fat plain leather folio,
Athin ruled leather quarto,
A fat ruled cardboard quarto,
A fat plain leather quarto,
A fat ruled leather folio, or
A fat ruled leather quarto.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Life! I must fling myself into Life, escape to’t, as Orestes to the temple of Apollo.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Tears of compassion, tempered with vast understanding and acceptance of the totality of life and the unalterable laws of the universe, welled in his eyes; his genital stiffened.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“My dear fellow,” Burlingame said, “we sit here on a blind rock careening through space; we are all of us rushing headlong to the grave. Think you the worms will care, when anon they make a meal of you, whether you spent your moment sighing wigless in your chamber, or sacked the golden towns of Montezuma?”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“In fine, sir, what business have I in the world, what place to flee from, what credentials to despise? Had I a home I’d likely leave it; a family alive or dead I’d likely scorn it, and wander a stranger in alien towns. But what a burden and despair to be a stranger to the world at large, and have no link with history! ’Tis as if I’d sprung de novo like a maggot out of meat, or dropped from the sky. Had I the tongue of angels I ne’er could tell you what a loneliness it is!” “I”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Only a wittol is certain he's been cuckolded or not”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“I recall the day my sister and I turned five and were allowed an extra hour ’twixt bath and bed. Mrs. Twigg would set her hourglass running there in the nursery; we could do whate’er we wished with the time, but when the sand had run ’twas off to bed and no lingering. I’faith, what a treasure that hour seemed: time for any of a hundred pleasures! We fetched out the cards, to play some game or other—but what silly game was worth such a wondrous hour? I vowed I’d build a castle out of blocks, and Anna set to drawing three soldiers upon a paper—but neither of us could pursue his sport for long, for thinking the other had chosen more wisely, so that anon we made exchange and were no more pleased. We cast about more desperately among our toys and games—whereof any one had sufficed for an hour’s diversion earlier in the day—but none would do, and still the glass ran on! Any hour save this most prime and measured we had been pleased enough to do no more than talk, or watch the world at work outside our nursery window, but when I cried ‘Heavy, heavy hangs over thy head,’ to commence a guessing game, Anna fell straightway to weeping, and I soon joined her. Yet e’en our tears did naught to ease our desperation; indeed, they but heightened it the more, for all the while we wept, our hour was slipping by. Now bedtime, mind, we’d ne’er before looked on as evil, but that sand was like our lifeblood draining from some wound; we sat and wept, and watched it flow, and the upshot of’t was, we both fell ill and took to heaving, and Mrs. Twigg fetched us off to bed with our last quarter hour still in the glass.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Man's lot? He is by mindless lust engendered and by mindless wrench expelled, from the Eden of the womb to the motley, mindless world. He is Chance's fool, the toy of aimless Nature—a mayfly flitting down the winds of Chaos!”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor

“Спитати людину, якої вона думки про азартні ігри, — це однаково, що спитати її, якої вона думки про саме життя, — це була одна з декількох позицій, яку він вирішив розглянути. — Хіба ж не ризикує скумбрія, за кожним разом випливаючи з глибини, що оті мартини схоплять її, а мартини хіба не б’ються навзаклад, що їм це вдасться? А хіба ж усі ми не гравці, коли ставимо на кін розум і вміння, б'ючись навзаклад з океаном на цьому кораблі, зробленому з дерева? Ні, саме життя є азартною грою, що триває впродовж усього життя, чи не так? З миті зачаття наше життя висить на волосині; кожна страва, кожен крок, кожна зміна є викликом смерті; усі люди є іграшками в руках випадку, окрім самогубців, та й вони мають важити тим, чи ж існує те Пекло, у якому вони горітимуть. Отож той, хто любить життя, напевно, любить і гру, адже він є здобутком Пані Випадку. Ба більше, кожен гравець є оптимістом, бо ж ніхто не б'ється навзаклад, гадаючи програти.

Обличчя Бертрана прояснішало.

— Отже, ви схвалюєте азартні ігри?

— Тут є «але», — застеріг Лауреат. Він схилив голову, похитав вказівним пальцем і навів приказку, яка мимохіть змусила його почервоніти: — До лісу веде багато стежок. Можна також заперечити, що гравець є песимістичним атеїстом, позаяк він має волю людини за ніщо. Битися навзаклад — означає дати випадку беззаперечну владу в усіх подіях, це однаково, що сказати, нібито Бог не має влади над речами.

— Отже, ви, зрештою, не дуже схвально дивитеся на це?

— Стривай. Не так швидко: так само легко можна сказати й протилежне — що послідовник гоббсівського матеріалізму ніколи не повинен бути гравцем, адже немає того, хто грав би і не вірив би в удачу, а вірити в удачу — означає заперечувати існування сліпого випадку і голого детермінізму, зарівно як і матеріалістичний лад. Той, хто каже Удачі «так!», якщо коротко, мусить також сказати «так!» і Богу, і навпаки.

— Отже, заради всього святого! — вигукнув Бертран, радше з меншою повагою в голосі, ніж попервах. — Якої ж ви насправді думки про гру на гроші — ви за чи проти?

Але Ебенезера не можна було так легко притиснути до стіни.”
― John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor