england

"Much of my work is about love," she says. "I know that sounds naive, but it is about my relationship with people and their ability to trust me. I don't feel like I am manipulating people."

"Editorial work came easily to me, but it was always a means to an end – it consumed me, it interested me, but I still found it creatively restrictive,"

"I think that anyone who is working creatively is a bit like litmus paper," she concludes. "I soak up a lot of stuff. I am hyper-sensitive and along the way I lead quite a conventional life. Maybe I am not acting out that stuff because it's in my work. It comes from existential angst. I think life's difficult."

"The common link was that they all felt unloved as kids. I actually felt the whole thing wasn't that psychologically interesting. That's how it resonated with me. That's how they chose to rationalise it. I am a voyeur; at the same time I am willing to get stuck in too."

"Thou who shalt stop where Thames’ translucent wave Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave, Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil, And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill, Unpolished gems no ray on pride bestow, And latent metals innocently glow: Approach. Great nature studiously behold! And eye the mine without a wish for gold. Approach: but aweful! Lo the Egerian grott, Where, nobly-pensive, St. John sate and thought; Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole, And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont’s soul. Let such, such only, tread the sacred floor, Who dare to love their country, and be poor."

"The men that live in West England They see the Severn strong, A-rolling on rough water brown Light aspen leaves along. They have the secret of the Rocks, And the oldest kind of song."

"The Thames! the mighty Thames! They say the mountain child Oft loves its torrent wild So well, that should he part He breaks his pining heart; He grieves with smothered sighs Till his wearying spirit dies; And so I yearn to thee, Thou river of the free, My own, my native Thames!"

"The silver Thames takes some part of this county in its journey to Oxford."

"Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew— (Twenty Bridges or twenty-two)— Wanted to know what the River knew, For they were young, and the Thames was old And this is the tale that the River told..."

"Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song."

"Thames! the most loved of all the Ocean’s sons, By his old sire, to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity."

"O, clear are England’s waters all, her rivers, streams, and rills, Flowing stilly through her valleys lone and winding by her hills; But river, stream, or rivulet through all her breadth who names For beauty and for pleasantness with our own pleasant Thames."

"There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream. Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit Of her enragèd step-dame Guendolen, Commended her fair innocence to the flood, That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course. The water-nymphs, that in the bottom played, Held up their pearlèd wrists and took her in, Bearing her straight to aged Nereus’ hall; Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head, And gave her to his daughters to imbathe In nectared lavers, strewed with asphodel: And through the porch and inlet of each sense Dropped in ambrosial oils, till she revived, And underwent a quick immortal change, Made goddess of the river."

"High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam Islanded in Severn stream; The bridges from the steepled crest Cross the water east and west."

"As I have seene when on the breast of Thames A heavenly beauty of sweet English Dames, In some calme Ev’ning of delightfull May, With Musick give a farewell to the day, Or as they would (with an admired tone) Greet Nights ascension to her Eben Throne, Rapt with their melodie, a thousand more Run to be wafted from the bounding shore."

"O roving Muse! recall that wondrous year When winter reigned in bleak Britannia’s air; When hoary Thames, with frosted osiers crowned, Was three long moons in icy fetters bound. The waterman, forlorn, along the shore, Pensive reclines upon his useless oar: See harnessed steeds desert the stony town, And wander roads unstable not their own; Wheels o’er the hardened water smoothly glide, And raze with whitened tracks the slippery tide; Here the fat cook piles high the blazing fire, And scarce the spit can turn the steer entire; Booths sudden hide the Thames, long streets appear, And numerous games proclaim the crowded fair. So, when the general bids the martial train Spread their encampment o’er the spacious plain, Thick-rising tents a canvas city build, And the loud dice resound through all the field."

"Thou too, great father of the British floods! With joyful pride survey’st our lofty woods; Where towering oaks their growing honors rear, And future navies on thy shores appear. Not Neptune’s self from all her streams receives A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives. No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear, No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear. Nor Po so swells the fabling poet’s lays, While led along the skies his current strays, As thine, which visits Windsor’s famed abodes, To grace the mansion of our earthly gods: Nor all his stars above a lustre show, Like the bright beauties on thy banks below; Where Jove, subdued by mortal passion still, Might change Olympus for a nobler hill."

"I have seen the Mississippi. That is muddy water. I have seen the St Lawrence. That is crystal water. But the Thames is liquid history."

"May all clean nimphs and curious water dames With swan-like state flote up and down thy streams: No drought upon thy wanton waters fall To make them leane, and languishing at all: No ruffling winds come hither to discease Thy pure and silver-wristed Naides. Keep up your state, ye streams; and as ye spring, Never make sick your banks by surfeiting. Grow young with tydes, and though I see ye never, Receive this vow, so fare ye well for ever."

"Because of the Thames I have always loved inland waterways—water in general, water sounds—there's music in water. Brooks babbling, fountains splashing. Weirs, waterfalls; tumbling, gushing. Whenever I think of my birthplace, Walton-on-Thames, my reference first and foremost is the river. I love the smell of the river; love its history, its gentleness. I was aware of its presence from my earliest years. Its majesty centered me, calmed me, was a solace to a certain extent."

"Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margin green The paths of pleasure trace; Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave?"

"But now this mighty flood, upon his voyage prest (That found how with his strength his beauties still increased, From where brave Windsor stood on tiptoe to behold The fair and goodly Thames, so far as ere he could, With kingly houses crowned, of more than earthly pride, Upon his either banks, as he along doth glide) With wonderful delight doth his long course pursue, Where Oatlands, Hampton Court, and Richmond he doth view, Then Westminster the next great Thames doth entertain; That vaunts her palace large, and her most sumptuous fane: The land’s tribunal seat that challengeth for hers, The crowning of our kings, their famous sepulchres. Then goes he on along by that more beauteous strand, Expressing both the wealth and bravery of the land. (So many sumptuous bowers within so little space The all-beholding sun scarce sees in all his race.) And on by London leads, which like a crescent lies, Whose windows seem to mock the star-befreckled skies; Besides her rising spires, so thick themselves that show, As do the bristling reeds within his banks that grow. There sees his crowded wharfs, and people-pestered shores, His bosom overspread with shoals of labouring oars: With that most costly bridge that doth him most renown, By which he clearly puts all other rivers down."

"Then commerce brought into the public walk The busy merchant; the big warehouse built; Raised the strong crane; choked up the loaded street With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames, Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods! Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between Possessed the breezy void; the sooty hulk Steered sluggish on; the splendid barge along Rowed, regular, to harmony; around, The boat, light skimming, stretched its oary wings; While deep the various voice of fervent toil From bank to bank increased."

"I dearly love this London, this royal northern London, And am up in all its history, to Brutus and to Lud; But I wish that certain Puritan simplicities were undone, That the houses had more gable-ends, and the river less of mud. * * * * * But our river still is beautiful, rejoicing in the quaintest Old corners for a painter (till the new quays are begun). See there the line of distant hills, and where the blue is faintest, The brown sails of the barges lie slanting in the sun."

"Say, Father Thames, whose gentle pace Gives leave to view what beauties grace Your flowery banks, if you have seen The much-sung Grotto of the queen."

"Thames, infant Thames, Rippling, flowing Water-white, Where the bright Young wilding gems Are blowing; Babbling ever in unrest, While as o’er her darling’s pillow Bends the mother, so the willow O’er thy breast.Thames, maiden Thames, Glancing, shining Silver-blue; While for you The lilied stems Are pining. Ah! thou lovest best to play Slily with the wanton swallow, While he whispers thee to follow Him away.Thames, matron Thames, That ebbest back From the sea; Oh! in thee There are emblems Of life’s track: We, too, would, like thee, regain, If we might, our greener hours; We, too, mourn our vanished flowers, But in vain."

"Old Thames! thy merry waters run Gloomily now, without star or sun! The wind blows o’er thee, wild and loud, And heaven is in its death-black shroud; And the rain comes down with all its might, Darkening the face of the sullen Night."

"Revolted Mortimer! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war; to prove that true Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, In single opposition, hand to hand, He did confound the best part of an hour In changing hardiment with great Glendower: Three times they breathed and three times did they drink, Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. Never did base and rotten policy Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Nor could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let not him be slander'd with revolt."

"The Danube to the Severn gave The darken’d heart that beat no more; They laid him by the pleasant shore, And in the hearing of the wave.There twice a day the Severn fills; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.The Wye is hush’d nor moved along, And hush’d my deepest grief of all, When fill’d with tears that cannot fall, I brim with sorrow drowning song.The tide flows down, the wave again Is vocal in its wooded walls; My deeper anguish also falls, And I can speak a little then."

"From Clee to heaven the beacon burns, The shires have seen it plain, From north and south the sign returns And beacons burn again. * * * * * It dawns in Asia, tombstones show And Shropshire names are read; And the Nile spills his overflow Beside the Severn's dead."

"Where Thames along the daisied meads His wave in lucid mazes leads, Silent, slow, serenely flowing, Wealth on either side bestowing, There in a safe though small retreat, Content and Love have fixed their seat,— Love, that counts his duty pleasure; Content, that knows and hugs his treasure.From art, from jealousy secure, As faith unblamed, as friendship pure, Vain opinion nobly scorning, Virtue aiding, life adorning, Fair Thames along thy flowery side, May thou whom truth and reason guide All their tender hours improving, Live like us, beloved and loving."

"An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly, And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little restless midge.Big barges full of yellow hay Are moored against the shadowy wharf, And, like a yellow silken scarf, The thick fog hangs along the quay.The yellow leaves begin to fade And flutter from the Temple elms, And at my feet the pale green Thames Lies like a rod of rippled jade."

"Ye scenes, my melancholy soul that fill! Where Nature’s voice no crowds tumultuous drown, And but through brakes of trees, the lawns that crown, The paths of men are seen; and farther still, Scarce peeps the city-spire o’er many a hill; Your green retreats, lone walks, and shadows brown, While sheep feed round beneath the branches’ frown, Shall calm my mind and holy thoughts instil.— What though with passion oft my trembling frame Each real and each fancied wrong inflame, Wandering alone I here my thoughts reclaim: Resentment sinks, Disgust within me dies; And Charity and meek Forgiveness rise, And melt my soul, and overflow my eyes."

"Fair Kent, ... What countrie hath this isle that may compare with thee?"

"Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent, Ye Children of a Soil that doth advance Her haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment! To France be words of invitation sent! They from their Fields can see the countenance Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore, Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; Confirmed the charters that were yours before;— No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; We all are with you now from Shore to Shore:— Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!"

"A new scent troubles the air—to you, friendly perhaps— But we with animal wisdom have understood that smell. To all our kind its message is Guns, Ferrets, and Traps, And a Ministry gassing the little holes in which we dwell."

"I should have hated the Roman Empire in its day (as I do), and remained a patriotic Roman citizen, while preferring a free Gaul and seeing good in Carthaginians. '. We hear rather a lot of that nowadays."

"... In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.—In every thing we are sprung Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold."

"The true Lover of his country is ready to communicate his fears and to sound the alarm, whenever he perceives the approach of mischief. But he sounds no alarm, when there is no enemy: he never terrifies his countrymen till he is terrified himself. The patriotism therefore may be justly doubted of him, who professes to be disturbed by incredibilities; ..."

"The knights are dust, And their good swords are rust;— Their souls are with the saints, we trust."

"I know I have the body but of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; ..."

"This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this England, ..."

"You brave heroic minds Worthy your country’s name, That honour still pursue; Go and subdue! Whilst loitering hinds Lurk here at home with shame."

"God of our fathers, known of old— Lord of our far-flung battle-line— Beneath whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget!"

"Poitiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell: No less our skill is Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat Lopp’d the French lilies.’"

"The real motive force of neo-Toryism, giving it its nationalistic character and differentiating it from ordinary Conservatism, is the desire not to recognize that British power and influence have declined. Even those who are realistic enough to see that Britain’s military position is not what it was, tend to claim that ‘English ideas’ (usually left undefined) must dominate the world. All neo-Tories are anti-Russian, but sometimes the main emphasis is anti-American. The significant thing is that this school of thought seems to be gaining ground among youngish intellectual, sometimes ex-Communists, who have passed through the usual process of disillusionment and become disillusioned with that. The anglophobe who suddenly becomes violently pro-British is a fairly common figure. Writers who illustrate this tendency are F. A. Voigt, Malcolm Muggeridge, Evelyn Waugh, Hugh Kingsmill, and a psychologically similar development can be observed in T. S. Eliot, Wyndham Lewis, and various of their followers."

"Agincourt, Agincourt, know ye not Agincourt?"

"Q. What is sin? A. Sin is any want of conformity unto, or transgression of, the law of God."

"Q. What is God? A. God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth."

"God hath all life, glory, goodness, blessedness, in and of Himself; and is alone in and unto Himself all-sufficient, not standing in need of any creatures which He hath made, nor deriving any glory from them, but only manifesting His own glory in, by, unto, and upon them."