Anglicans From The United Kingdom

"A blushing crow."

"Can anything be more absurd than keeping women in a state of ignorance, and yet so vehemently to insist on their resisting temptation?"

"A well-boiled icicle."

"Someone is occupewing my pie. Please sew me to another sheet."

"Three cheers for our queer old dean!"

"’Mid toil and tribulation, And tumult of her war, She waits the consummation Of peace for evermore; Till with the vision glorious Her longing eyes are blest, And the great Church victorious Shall be the Church at rest."

"Is it kisstomary to cuss the bride?"

"Weary of earth and laden with my sin, I look at heaven, and long to enter in."

"Yet Saints their watch are keeping, Their cry goes up, ‘How long?’ And soon the night of weeping Shall be the morn of song."

"All glory, laud, and honour To Thee, Redeemer, King! To Whom the lips of children Made sweet Hosannas ring."

"The Lord is a shoving leopard."

"You have hissed all my mystery lectures. You have tasted a whole worm. Please leave Oxford on the next town drain."

"O passing beautiful—in this wild spot Temples, and tombs, and dwellings,—all forgot! One sea of sunlight far around them spread, And skies of sapphire mantling overhead. They seem no work of man’s creative hand, Where Labour wrought as wayward Fancy plann’d; But from the rock as if by magic grown, Eternal—silent—beautiful—alone! Not virgin white—like that old Doric shrine Where once Athena held her rites divine: Not saintly grey—like many a minster fane That crowns the hill, or sanctifies the plain: But rosy-red,—as if the blush of dawn Which first beheld them were not yet withdrawn: The hues of youth upon a brow of woe, Which men call’d old two thousand years ago! Match me such marvel, save in Eastern clime,— A rose-red city—‘half as old as Time!’"

"Either, with the best and wisest of all ages, you must believe the whole of Holy Scripture; or, with the narrow-minded infidel, you must disbelieve the whole. There is no middle course open to you."

"Kinquering Congs their titles take."

"You will find as you grow older that the weight of rages will press harder and harder upon the employer."

"You have deliberately tasted two worms and you can leave Oxford by the town drain."

"The Church’s one foundation Is Jesus Christ her Lord; She is His new creation By water and the Word."

"Good King Wenceslas look'd out On the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even."

"Why do I keep this voluminous journal? I can hardly tell. Partly because life seems to me such a curious and wonderful thing that it seems a pity that even such a humble and uneventful life as mine should pass altogether away without some such record as this, and partly too because I think the record may amuse and interest some who come after me."

"He's so bright-eyed it makes one unconscionably glad to be alive."

"He was certainly not a man wrapped up in himself, and perhaps the chief merit of the Diary is that it afford a detailed and objective picture of life in a remote and beautiful part of the country about seventy years ago."

"The point about Kilvert is that he was the master of a most exquisite and lovely prose, and the Diary that he kept is not merely a revealing document of the social life of the countryside in his time — it is certainly that — but one of the first half-dozen diaries, and that not the least moving, in our literature."

"It is a perfect little landscape, like a Constable, and that is the kind of thing that Kilvert can do on every page. More often, he is rendering life, from close-up observation and with the tenderest, most exquisite sympathy for every sort of human being... It is a world of rural deans, and tea on rectory lawns under the trees, and, after tea, archery or croquet, or picking flowers in the flowery meads of Wiltshire for decorating the church, of pretty Victorian girls looking over the parapet of the bridge while the river flows by. And all the while there is one, a little apart, watching life itself flowing by, trying to catch it on the wing, to ensnare a momentary aspect of its beauty, with what quivering sensibility, with what nostalgia for what is passing, even as it passes, in a paragraph, a sentence, a phrase."

"The discovery of the extensive diary of the Reverend Francis Kilvert some years ago added a new classic to English diary literature."

"Sleep on (my Love!) in thy cold bed Never to be disquieted. My last Good-night! Thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake: Till age, or grief, or sickness must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves; and fill the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there: I will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale. And think not much of my delay; I am already on the way, And follow thee with all the speed Desire can make, or sorrows breed."

"Her late husband, you know, a very sad death—eaten by missionaries—poor soul!"

"O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel."

"In his master’s steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the Saint had printed."

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither."

"Brief life is here our portion, Brief sorrow, short-lived care: The Life that knows no ending, The tearless Life, is there."

"Jerusalem the golden! With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest: I know not, oh, I know not What joys await us there; What radiancy of glory, What light beyond compare."

"I remember your name perfectly, but I just can't think of your face."

"Those whose knowledge of the pastoral regions is drawn from a course of novels of the Geoffrey Hamlyn class, cannot fail to hold a most erroneous notion of the squatter. Of course, we use the term 'squatter' indifferently to denote a station-owner, a managing partner, or a salaried manager. Lacking generations of development, there is no typical squatter. Or, if you like, there are a thousand types. Hungry M'Intyre is one type; Smythe—petty, genteel, and parsimonious—is another; patriarchal Royce is another; Montgomery-kind, yet haughty and imperious—is another; Stewart is another. My diary might, just as likely as not, have compelled me to introduce, instead of these, a few of the remaining nine-hundred and ninety-five types—any type conceivable, in fact, except the slender-witted, virgin-souled, overgrown schoolboys who fill Henry Kingsley's exceedingly trashy and misleading novel with their insufferable twaddle."

"Oh, but the sabres bit deep that autumn afternoon! There were women in Minsk, in Moglef, in Tohernigof, in Jitenier, in Polemva, whose husbands were Hussars—and women in Taganrog, in Tcherkask, in Aarepta, which lies under the pleasant slate mountains, whose husbands and sons were Cossacks—who were made widows that day. For that day's work there was weeping in reed-thatched hovels of the Don, and the mud-built shanties of the Dnieper. For the 17th Lancers, the Scots-Greys, the 1st Royals, and the 6th Enniskillens—"these terrible beef-fed islanders" (to use the words of the Northern Bee)—were upon them; and Volnyia and Hampshire, Renfrewshire and Grodno, Podolia and Fermanagh, were mixed together in one common ruin. Still, they say, the Princess Petrovitch, on certain days, leaves her carriage, and walks a mile through the snow barefoot, into Alexandroski, in memory of her light-haired handsome young son, whom Hornby slew at Balaclava. And I myself know the place where Lady Allerton makes her pilgrimage for those two merry boys of hers who lie out on the Crimean hill. Alas! not side by side. Up and down, in all weathers, along a certain gravel walk, where the chalk brook, having flooded the park with its dammed-up waters, comes foaming and spouting over a cascade, and hurries past the smooth-mown lawns of the pleasance. In the very place where she stood when the second letter came. And there, they say, she will walk at times, until her beauty and her strength are gone, and her limbs refuse to carry her."

"I kenned yer partner: a good man—a very good man, a man o' ten thousand. He was put down up north. A bad job—a very bad job! Ye gat terrible vengeance, though. Ye hewed Agag in pieces! T' Governor up there to Sydney was wild angry at what ye did, but he darena' say much. He knew that every free man's heart went with ye. It were the sword of the Lord and of Gideon that ye fought with! Ye saved many good lives by that raid of yours after Stockbridge was killed. The devils wanted a lesson, and ye gar'd them read one wi' a vengeance!"

""I see," began the Major, "the Anglo-Saxon race—" "Don't forget the Irish, Jews, Germans, Chinese, and other barbarians," interrupted the Doctor. "Asserting," continued the Major, scornfully, "as they always do, their right to all the unoccupied territories of the earth." ("Blackfellow's claims being ignored," interpolated the Doctor.)"

"Now that broad cool verandah of Captain Brentwood's, with its deep recesses of shadow, was a place not to be lightly spoken of. Any man once getting footing there, and leaving it, except on compulsion, would show himself of weak mind. Any man once comfortably settled there in an easy chair, who fetched anything for himself when he could get any one else to fetch it for him, would show himself, in my opinion, a man of weak mind. One thing only was wanted to make it perfect, and that was niggers. To the winds with "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and "Dred" after it, in a hot wind! What can an active-minded, self-helpful lady like Mrs. Stowe, freezing up there in Connecticut, obliged to do something to keep herself warm,—what can she, I ask, know about the requirements of a southern gentleman when the thermometer stands at 125 degrees in the shade? Pish! Does she know the exertion required for cutting up a pipe of tobacco in a hot north wind? No! Does she know the amount of perspiration and anger superinduced by knocking the head off a bottle of Bass in January? Does she know the physical prostration which is caused by breaking up two lumps of hard white sugar in a pawnee before a thunderstorm? No, she doesn't, or she would cry out for niggers with the best of us! When the thermometer gets over 100 degrees in the shade, all men would have slaves if they were allowed. An Anglo-Saxon conscience will not, save in rare instances, bear a higher average heat than 95 degrees."

"[W]hile I was learning the Latin grammar, I learnt other things besides, of more use than the construction of any languages, living or dead. First, I learnt that there were certain things in this world that must be done. Next, that there were people in this world, of whom the Masters of Eton were a sample, whose orders must be obeyed without question. Third, I found that it was pleasanter in all ways to do one's duty than to leave it undone. And last, I found out how to bear a moderate amount of birching without any indecent outcry."

"They have found gold here, and gold in abundance, and hither have come, by ship and steamship, all the unfortunate of the earth. The English factory labourer and the farmer-ridden peasant; the Irish pauper; the starved Scotch Highlander. I hear a grand swelling chorus rising above the murmur of the evening breeze; that is sung by German peasants revelling in such plenty as they never knew before, yet still regretting fatherland, and then I hear a burst of Italian melody replying. Hungarians are not wanting, for all the oppressed of the earth have taken refuge here, glorying to live under the free government of Britain; for she, warned by American experience, has granted to all her colonies such rights as the British boast of possessing."

"I see a vision of a nation, the colony of the greatest race on the earth, who began their career with more advantages than ever fell to the lot of a young nation yet. War never looked on them. Not theirs was the lot to fight, like the Americans, through bankruptcy and inexperience towards freedom and honour. No. Freedom came to them, Heavensent, red-tape-bound, straight from Downing-street."

"A new heaven and a new earth! Tier beyond tier, height above height, the great wooded ranges go rolling away westward, till on the lofty sky-line they are crowned with a gleam of everlasting snow. To the eastward they sink down, breaking into isolated forests, fringed peaks, and rock-crowned eminences, till with rapidly straightening lines they disappear gradually into broad grey plains, beyond which the Southern Ocean is visible by the white reflection cast upon the sky."

"I can hear thee curse, yet chase thee; Drink thy tears, yet still embrace thee. Easie riches is no treasure; She that’s willing, spoils the pleasure. Love bids learn the restless fight, Pull and struggle whilst ye twine: Let me use my force to night, The next conquest shall be thine."

"She who to Heaven more heaven doth annex, Whose lowest Thought was above all our Sex, Accounted nothing Death but t’be Repriv’d, And dyed as free from sickness as she liv’d. Others are dragg’d away, or must be driven, She only saw her time and stept to Heaven."

"Give me a Girl, if one I needs must meet, Or in her nuptial, or her Winding-sheet; I know but two good Hours that Women have, One in the Bed, another in the Grave, Thus of the whole Sex all I would desire, Is to enjoy their Ashes or their Fire."

"The Lord hath set every thing in its place and order, and what is there which he cannot root up and displant again?"

"There are two Births, the one when Light First strikes the new awak’ned sense; The Other when two Souls unite; And we must count our life from thence: When you lov’d me, and I lov’d you, Then both of us were born anew.Love then to us did new Souls give, And in those Souls did plant new pow’rs; Since when another life we live, The Breath we breathe is his, not ours; Love makes those young, whom Age doth Chill, And whom he finds young, keeps young still."

"Can we wonder that the strict Protestants were jealous of the backsliding of the Arminian prelatical clergy and of Laud their leader, when so strict a Calvinist as Bishop Hacket could trick himself up in such fantastic rags and lappets of Popish monkery!—could skewer such frippery patches, cribbed from the tyring room of Romish Parthenolatry, on the sober gown and cassock of a Reformed and Scriptural Church!"

"I am much obliged to you for...your poem, which I have read with great satisfaction. I did not think a battle could be turned into anything so entertaining."

"I have just heard your friend Croker, and you could not wish him or any favourite of yours to have made a stronger or more favourable impression upon the House. His speech was one which was calculated to conciliate at this side of the Channel and to gratify at the other. It was replete with ingenuity and yet free from fanciful refinement. It was characterised by an acuteness of legal deduction, and yet exempt from sophistry or the pedantry of profession. It treated a worn-out subject so as to make it appear a new one. But its principal merit in my eyes lay in its frankness, warmth, and sincerity. It redeemed the pledge and fulfilled the promise of his ‘Historical Sketch.’ It showed him to be an honest Irishman no less than an able statesman. It showed him at this moment to be disinterested, and ready to quit the road of fortune under the auspices of his personal friend Peel, if the latter was only to be conciliated by what Oxonians term orthodoxy, and we Cantabs consider as intolerance."