Women Authors From England

"Far from mortal cares retreating, Sordid hopes and vain desires, Here, our willing footsteps meeting, Every heart to heaven aspires."

"Oh that it were my chief delight To do the things I ought! Then let me try with all my might To mind what I am taught."

"Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well? My mother."

"I love little pussy, her coat is so warm; And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm."

"Oh, Bay of Dublin! How my heart you're troublin', Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream; Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubblin' My heart's blood warms when I but hear your name."

"The portrait placed as a frontispiece is after a crayon drawing by [James Rannie Swinton], and is an excellent likeness."

"My elder sister Mrs. Blackwood is delicate, but has all the talent which you know how to prize, for literary composition; and is very musical besides."

"There was much beauty at Rome at that time; no one who was there can have forgotten the beautiful and brilliant Sheridans. I recollect Lady Dufferin at the Easter ceremonies at St. Peter's, in her widow's cap, with a large black crape veil thrown over it, creating quite a sensation. With her exquisite features, oval face, and somewhat fantastical head-dress, anything more lovely could not be conceived; and the Roman people crowded round her in undisguised admiration of "la bella monaca Inglese." Her charm of manner and her brilliant conversation will never be forgotten by those who knew her."

"This dinner, although merely a family one, was one of the pleasantest I have been at. When there is one such person at table as Lady Dufferin, of course it makes all the difference. She has known everybody, and tells peppery anecdotes, strikes out little portraits, and talks on grave and gay subjects with the same animation and brilliancy. Then, she paints beautifully, having adorned the panels of her own boudoir with her own pencil, and is perpetually writing clever verses. When well dressed, she is very pretty, but she never could have had the beauty of [her sister] Mrs. Norton, who has the head of a classic Muse and the eyes of a sibyl."

"There is nothing like her—I mean as to agreeability, for I hold myself quite valuable as a companion in the long run, but I don't think I am fit to whisk the dust off her satin slipper in general society."

"The Sheridans are much admired but are strange girls, swear and say all sorts of things to make men laugh. I am surprised so sensible a woman as Mrs. Sheridan should let them go on so. I suppose she cannot stop the old blood coming out."

"It has thine own dear playful look— Thy smile! thy sun-bright hair! Thy brow—so like a holy book With sweet thoughts written there! The full, soft lids, half-raised above Those blue and dreamy eyes, Within whose gaze of trusting love No fear—no falsehood lies! Like lonely lakes of Heaven's pure rain Reflecting only Heaven again."

"Rest now—and weep—thou praised of Earth! And own, when all is done, A world's false worship is not worth The deep tried love of one."

"Thou mourner for departed dreams! On earth there is no rest When grief hath troubled the pure streams Of memory in thy breast!"

"I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary—kind and true! But I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm going to. They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there; But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair."

"I'm very lonely now, Mary,— The poor make no new friends;— But, oh! they love the better still The few our Father sends"

"I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side, That bright May morning long ago When first you were my bride. The corn was springing fresh and green, The lark sang loud and high, The red was on your lip, Mary, The love-light in your eye."

"That last day at Clandeboye was full of sweet and bitter thoughts to me. I walked round the lake, and took leave of all the old (and new!) places. ... I had a poignant thought of regret in thinking I should see them no more (at least with my earthly eyes), for I have occasional happy fancies of some sort of spiritual presence with those we love that may be permitted after death, and, if so, how continually I shall be with my darling—alone, or in company—in your walks, or by your fireside—the fervor of my love, my blessing, my whole soul, will surely encompass you!"

"Do, Car, open your eyes (and shut your mouth) and see that this is not our old world when we were all young, handsome women, much observed and talked of, and that you are no longer an ideal of Vanity Fair."

"What a spirit of contradiction possesses one's kind friends! I, who have never done anything, am supposed to be capable of doing much; it is a great lesson, which I shall lay to heart. I will never give the measure of my shallowness; I will go on laboring in my vocation; I will "do nothing" more energetically than ever."

"Surely it is hardly worthwhile to take up a pursuit merely to please other people."

"Rumor has reached me that my private and confidential communications to you have been publicly bandied about, after a banquet at your house, and commented on by astute Diplomats and persons of that dangerous description. I therefore write this in illegible character, trusting that not even you will be able to read it, to ask you to dine at my inhospitable board on Wednesday the 21st, when I shall take care that there shall be nothing to eat. Fondly hoping that you will not be able to come, I remain, with best execrations, your enemy for life,"

"I think the Old Bailey is a charming place. We were introduced to a live Lord Mayor, and I sat between two sheriffs. The common sergeant talked to me familiarly, and I am not sure that the Governor of Newgate did not call me "Nelly." [...] We have seen a great deal of life, and learned a great deal of the criminal law of England this week—knowledge cheaply purchased at the cost of all my wardrobe and all my mother's plate. We have gone through two examinations in court; they were very hurrying and agitating affairs, and I had to kiss either the Bible or the magistrate, I don't recollect which, but it smelled like thumbs."

"I am persuaded one ought not to set one's heart earnestly on any one pursuit in this world, if one wishes to preserve any of the energy of youth beyond its first years."

"I am what Doctor Johnson would call a "compendious epitome" of all the virtues—in one volume very neatly bound, and very rare—there being but one copy extant."

"You see Georgy’s the beauty and Carry’s the wit, and I ought to be the good one, but then I am such a liar."

"In short, the world owns that we are the best-looking family in England and we are pretty well disposed to agree."

"To the politician we are something of a dark horse. He does not know what we want; he wishes he did. Do we know ourselves? Vaguely we know that we don't want the politician."

"Jane: What do you think of his book Arthur? Gideon: I don't think of it. I've had no reason to, particularly. I've not had to review it. ...I'm afraid I'm hopeless about novels just now, that's the fact. I'm sick of the form—slices of life served up cold in three hundred pages. Oh, it's very nice; it makes nice reading for people. But what's the use? Except, of course, to kill time for those who prefer it dead. But as things in themselves, as art, they've been ruined by excess. My critical sense is blunted just now. I can hardly feel the difference, though I can see it, between a good novel and a bad one. I couldn't write one, good or bad, to save my life, I know that. And I've got to the stage when I wish other people wouldn't. I wish everyone would shut up, so that we could hear ourselves think..."

"The best book she has written, and that is saying a lot."

"Cranks live by theory, not by pure desire. They want votes, peace, nuts, liberty and spinning-looms not because they love these things, as a child loves jam, but because they think they ought to have them. That is one element which makes the crank. Another is lack of proportion, the obsession with one desire or one principle to the minimising or exclusion of others; exaggeration, in fact."

"Each wrong act brings with it its own anaesthetic, dulling the conscience and blinding it against further light, and sometimes for years."

"Poem me no poems."

"Rose Macaulay is a wise guide, tolerant, generous-minded, liberal, courageous, cheerful, and her judgments of society and social values are always sound."

""Take my camel, dear," said my aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass."

"Words, living and ghostly, the quick and the dead, crowd and jostle the otherwise too empty corridors of my mind. ... To move among this bright, strange, often fabulous herd of beings, to summon them at my will, to fasten them on to paper like flies, that they may decorate it, this is the pleasure of writing."

"How fast and how loud foreigners talk ! It is a gift ; the British cannot talk so loud or so fast. They have too many centuries of fog in their throats."

"The trouble about the fashions is, there are too many going on at once, and you can't follow them all. Sometimes, I think I will give them all up, and just be dowdy."

"Once learnt, this business of cooking was to prove an ever growing burden. It scarcely bears thinking about, the time and labour that man and womankind has devoted to the preparation of dishes that are to melt and vanish in a moment like smoke or a dream, like a shadow, and as a post that hastes by, and the air closes behind them, and afterwards no sign of where they went is to be found."

"It was, I saw, a flat to get out of rather than one to stay in. It was a machine for eating and sleeping in, a suitable dwelling place for a working woman, whose main interest is in her work. I disliked this version of myself, which seemed to negate my other activities, reduced them to after-hours amusements, whereas I had always thought them pretty central. These mute, white walls had been silent witnesses to many encounters; nevertheless, they withheld comment, and their very withholding struck me as unfriendly. Unheimlich was the word which came to mind when I stood on the threshold of my bedroom."

"It is best to marry for purely selfish reasons."

"In the street the rain was little more than a fine mist which softened the outlines of the houses and even lent a touch of poetry to a neighbourhood unlikely to evoke tender emotions. He raised his eyes to a roofline bristling with television aerials, lowered them again to windows still blank before the evening lights were lit."

"And yet she had never felt so bereft, as if her presence in other lives were entirely illusory, as if she herself were a kind of facsimile, pleasant but inauthentic. Before she got too old she must wrest some part of her life for herself, or she would fade, vanish, before anyone noticed her disappearance."

"The house - a substantial but essentially modest suburban villa - was furnished with voluptuous grandeur in approximations of various styles, predominantly those of several Louis, with late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century additions. Heavy coloured glass ashtrays of monstrous size and weight rested in inlaid marquetry tables of vaguely Pompadour associations. At dinner we drank champagne from ruby Bohemian glasses: the meat was carved at a Boulle-type sideboard. ‘Regency’ wallpaper of dark green and lighter green stripes was partially covered by gilt-framed landscapes of no style whatsoever.’"

"Women have come a long way, of course: we can all be left alone at night now. But sometimes it seems a high price to pay. We can also open the door cheerfully to strangers at any hour, deal with obscene telephone calls and mend fuses."

"I saw the business of writing for what it truly was and is to me. It is your penance for not being lucky. It is an attempt to reach others and to make them love you. It is your instinctive protest, when you find you have no voice at the world's tribunals, and that no one will speak for you. I would give my entire output of words, past, present, and to come, in exchange for easier access to the world, for permission to state "I hurt" or "I hate" or "I want." Or, indeed, "Look at me." And I do not go back on this. For once a thing is known it can never be unknown. It can only be forgotten. And writing is the enemy of forgetfulness, of thoughtlessness. For the writer there is no oblivion. Only endless memory."

"You hail from Dream-land, Dragon-fly? A stranger hither? So am I, And (sooth to say) I wonder why We either of us came!"

"We cannot all be great poets; but the humblest, if they be sincere, may give a genuine pleasure."

"Since ever and ever the world began They danced like a ribbon of flame, They have sung their song through the centuries long, And yet it is never the same. And though you be foolish or though you be wise, With hair of silver or gold, You can never be as young as the fairies are, And never be as old."

"The King is very proud and very handsome; The Queen--now you can quess who that could be (She's a little girl all day, but at night she steals away)? Well -- it's Me!"