English Literature Quotes

“She'd become an English major for the purest and dullest of reasons: because she loved to read.”
― Jeffrey Eugenides, The Marriage Plot

“What else can I do? Once you've gone this far you aren't fit for anything else. Something happens to your mind. You're overqualified, overspecialized, and everybody knows it. Nobody in any other game would be crazy enough to hire me. I wouldn't even make a good ditch-digger, I'd start tearing apart the sewer-system, trying to pick-axe and unearth all those chthonic symbols - pipes, valves, cloacal conduits... No, no. I'll have to be a slave in the paper-mines for all time.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Edible Woman

“Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new-create another heir
As great in admiration as herself.”
― William Shakespeare, Henry VIII

“ESTRAGON: We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?

VLADIMIR: (impatiently). Yes, yes, we’re magicians. But let us persevere in what we have resolved, before we forget.”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“Ninety-nine per cent of traditional English literature concerns people who never have to worry about money at all. We always seem to be watching or reading about emotional crises among folk who live in a world of great fortune both in matters of luck and money; stories and fantasies about rock stars and film stars, sporting millionaires and models; jet-setting members of the aristocracy and international financiers.”
― James Kelman

“But why," he said with animation, "do the English not read their own great literature?"
Victor laughed triumphantly, and said, "Because at school they are made to hate it.”
― Olaf Stapledon, A Man Divided

“...the wise words of a friend and guide rang in my head. 'How would you distinguish a true servant of God from a traitor?...You should take especial notice of how a person speaks, not of other things, but of God.”
― Harry Blamires, Highway to Heaven

“Geoffrey Chaucer’s ‘The Merchant’s Tale’ masterfully explores the theme of self-deception and the intricate dynamics of marital relationships. As the narrative unfolds, it illuminates the ironic nature of marriage, where love and treachery often coexist. By restoring January’s sight, Chaucer metaphorically portrays his willful ignorance, allowing him to live in blissful ignorance of his wife’s infidelity. This allegory provokes readers to question the nature of self-deception and the precarious illusions individuals construct in their pursuit of happiness within the confines of marriage.

‘The Merchant’s Tale’ serves as a cautionary tale, addressing the complexities and pitfalls of love, trust, and the frailties of human nature. Chaucer’s exploration of self-deception requires readers to critically examine the choices and illusions woven throughout the tale, shedding light on the paradoxical nature of love and marriage. Through this literary masterpiece, Chaucer prompts us to question the realities of our own lives, reminding us of the delicate balance between truth and the seductive allure of self-imposed blindness. (from an article titled "Chaucer’s ‘The Merchant’s Tale’: Unveiling the Harsh Realities of Matrimony")”
― Mouloud Benzadi

“There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral - immoral from the scientific point of view.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

“I am not a thief. I take only what I need,” he growled.
“Don’t we all, Swiss.”
― Chris Priestley, Mister Creecher

“There are fewer things sadder than a poorly attended funeral.”
― Chris Priestley, The Dead of Winter

“You either surrender voluntarily to Shakespeare's genius or delay the inevitable collision with that cultural colossus later.”
― Stewart Stafford

“What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind..."
from "Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”
― William Wordsworth, Ode : Intimations of immortality from recollections of early childhood, by William Wordsworth. 1884 [Leather Bound]

“He was thoughtful and grave----but the order he gave, were enough to bewilder a crew.”
― Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark

“Love is like dried flowers sometimes. Even though you watch the petals shrink and change color, you cannot help treasuring them.”
― Munia Khan

“كي يسير القارب إلى الأمام، ينبغي دفع الماء إلى الوراء… كذلك التقدم في الحياة، نحتاج أم ندفع الى وراء ظهورنا بعض ما نطفو
… عليه”
― Mahdi Mansour

“What was the point of all that education if at the end of it you came out speaking such drivel?”
― Chris Priestley, Mister Creecher

“it strikes me that the whole world runs on theft of one kind or another.”
― Chris Priestley, Mister Creecher

“I felt worse now, for having known love and losing it, than I ever did in those hours of lonely despair.”
― Chris Priestley, Mister Creecher

“Hearts on the shore were overconfident enough to take the chills and thrills.”
― Akshat Pathak, Strangers to the Quietus!: The Three Rangers of the Mortal Coil...

“Misery and a nameless nostalgic distress possessed him.”
― Aldous Huxley, Crome Yellow

“Each thing called improvement seems blackened with crimes,
If it tears up one record of blissful old times.”
― Susanna Blamire

“Estou crescendo”, pensou, pegando, afinal, na candeia. “Estou perdendo algumas ilusões”, disse, fechando o livro da rainha Maria, “talvez para adquirir outras”, e desceu por entre as tumbas onde jaziam os ossos de seus antepassados.
(...)
“Estou crescendo”, pensou, pegando a sua vela. “Estou perdendo as minhas ilusões, talvez para adquirir novas”, e foi atravessando a longa galeria, em direção ao seu quarto. Era um processo desagradável e fastidioso. Mas era assombrosamente interessante, pensou, estirando as pernas para o fogo de lenha (já que não havia nenhum marinheiro presente), e passou em revista, como a uma avenida de grandes edifícios, o progresso de si mesma, ao longo de seu próprio passado.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Isso é opinião de alguns filósofos e sábios mas nós temos outra. A diferença entre os sexos tem, felizmente, um sentido muito profundo. As roupas são meros símbolos de alguma coisa profundamente oculta. Foi uma transformação do próprio Orlando que lhe ditou a escolha das roupas de mulher e do sexo feminino. E talvez nisso ela estivesse expressando apenas um pouco mais abertamente do que é usual – a franqueza, na verdade, era a sua principal característica – algo que acontece a muita gente sem ser assim claramente expressa. Pois aqui de novo nos encontramos com um dilema. Embora diferentes, os sexos se confundem. Em cada ser humano ocorre uma vacilação entre um sexo e outro, e, às vezes só as roupas conservam a aparência masculina ou feminina, quando, interiormente, o sexo está em completa oposição como que se encontra à vista. Cada um sabe por experiência as confusões e complicações que disso resultam, mas deixemos aqui o problema geral, e observemos somente o seu singular efeito no caso particular de Orlando.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Quando isso aconteceu, Orlando deu um suspiro de alívio, acendeu um cigarro e soprou em silêncio um ou dois minutos. Depois, chamou hesitante, como se a pessoa que procurasse pudesse não estar ali: “Orlando?” Pois se há (por acaso) 76 tempos diferentes, todos pulsando simultaneamente na cabeça, quantas pessoas diferentes não haverá – valha-nos o céu -, todas morando, num tempo ou noutro, no espírito humano? Alguns dizem que 2052. De modo que é a coisa mais natural do mundo uma pessoa chamar, logo que fique sozinha, “Orlando?” (se esse é o seu nome), querendo com isso dizer “Vem, vem! Estou mortalmente cansada deste eu. Preciso de outro”. Daí as mudanças assombrosas que vemos em nossos amigos. Mas isso também não é muito fácil, pois, embora se possa dizer, como Orlando disse (achando-se no campo, e necessitando talvez de outro eu), “Orlando?”, o Orlando de que ela necessita pode não vir; esses eus de que somos constituídos, sobrepostos uns aos outros como pratos empilhados na mão do copeiro, têm suas predileções, simpatias, pequenos códigos e direitos próprios, chamem-se como quiserem (e muitas dessas coisas não têm nome), de modo que um só virá se estiver chovendo, outro, se for num quarto com cortinas verdes, outro, se a sra. Jones não estiver lá, outro, se lhe pudermos prometer um copo de vinho – e assim por diante; pois cada pessoa pode multiplicar com a sua própria existência as diferentes condições que impõe os seus diferentes eus – e algumas, de tão ridículas, nem podem ser impressas em letra de fôrma.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

“Poetry is a distinct category of language—a special way of speaking that invites and rewards a special way of listening.”
― Dana Gioia

“Poetry simultaneously addresses our intellect and our physical senses, our emotions, imagination, intuition, and memory without asking us to divide them.”
― Dana Gioia, Poetry as Enchantment

“For thousands of years, poetry was taught badly, and consequently it was immensely popular.”
― Dana Gioia, Poetry as Enchantment

“The purpose of literary education is not to produce more professors; its goal is to develop capable and complete human beings.”
― Dana Gioia, Poetry as Enchantment

“Why was I always excited about things other people did not care about?”
― Robertson Davies, Fifth Business