Essayists From England

"I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy."

"The things we liked most of course were the things that more or less selected or symbolized our own feelings of conditions and life in general. For example, I recall that we liked Thomas Hood's "The Sound of the ship" Now, nothing could come closer to the way we felt than that particular poem. We also read and managed an interest in that other one, "The Bridge of Sighs" also by Thomas Hood. Later, we found "The Masque of Anarchy" by Shelley, and of course in addition to that there were the Jewish poets, like Rosenfeld and Edelshtat. They were magnificent in their writing, in their poetry depicting the life of the people in the shop."

"At one time five of us tried to understand De Quincey's marvelous "Dreams" more sympathetically, by drugging ourselves with opium. We solemnly consumed small white powders at intervals during an entire long holiday, but no mental reorientation took place, and the suspense and excitement did not even permit us to grow sleepy. About four o'clock on the weird afternoon, the young teacher whom we had been obliged to take into our confidence, grew alarmed over the whole performance, took away our De Quincey and all the remaining powders, administered an emetic to each of the five aspirants for sympathetic under- standing of all human experience, and sent us to our separate rooms with a stern command to appear at family worship after supper "whether we were able to or not.""

"A promise is binding in the inverse ratio of the numbers to whom it is made."

"Tea, though ridiculed by those who are naturally coarse in their nervous sensibilities … will always be the favourite beverage of the intellectual."

"Everlasting farewells! and again, and yet again reverberated—everlasting farewells!"

"In many walks of life, a conscience is a more expensive encumbrance than a wife or a carriage."

"Flowers … that are so pathetic in their beauty, frail as the clouds, and in their colouring as gorgeous as the heavens, had through thousands of years been the heritage of children—honoured as the jewellery of God only by them—when suddenly the voice of Christianity, counter-signing the voice of infancy, raised them to a grandeur transcending the Hebrew throne, although founded by God himself, and pronounced Solomon in all his glory not to be arrayed like one of these."

"Thou hast the keys of Paradise, oh just, subtle, and mighty opium!"

"Cows are amongst the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young when deprived of them; and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these quiet creatures."

"Call for the grandest of all earthly spectacles, what is that? It is the sun going to his rest. Call for the grandest of all human sentiments, what is that? It is that man should forget his anger before he lies down to sleep."

"So, then, Oxford Street, stonyhearted stepmother, thou that listenest to the sighs of orphans, and drinkest the tears of children, at length I was dismissed from thee."

"It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless; and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London."

"The burden of the incommunicable."

"Dyspepsy is the ruin of most things: empires, expeditions, and everything else."

"For if once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination. Once begin [sic] upon this downward path, you never know where you are to stop. Many a man has dated his ruin from some murder or other that perhaps he thought little of at the time."

"That there is pain and evil, is no rule That I should make it greater, like a fool."

"Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An Angel writing in a book of gold: Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the Presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow men." The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!"

"There are two worlds: the world that we can measure with line and rule, and the world we feel with our hearts and imagination."

"It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands, Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream, And times and things, as in that vision, seem Keeping along it their eternal stands."

"The same people who can deny others everything are famous for refusing themselves nothing."

"and then we wake, And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along Twixt villages, and think how we shall take Our own calm journey on for human sake."

"Fishes do not roar; they cannot express any sound of suffering; and therefore the angler chooses to think they do not suffer, more than it is convenient for him to fancy. Now it is a poor sport that depends for its existence on the want of a voice in the sufferer, and of imagination in the sportsman."

"With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks To lie and read in, sloping into brooks."

"She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled; He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild: The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place, Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face. "By God!" said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat: "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that.""

"The two divinest things this world has got, A lovely woman in a rural spot!"

"Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in. Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me; Say I'm growing old, but add Jenny kissed me."

"Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!"

"Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen, be your apples."

"If you are ever at a loss to support a flagging conversation, introduce the subject of eating."

"The accidents of history, then, treated Defoe fortunately, although he courted them as no other writer has done, and deserves his reward. They impelled him to a step which was decisive in the history of the novel. His blind and almost purposeless concentration on the actions of his heroes and heroines, and his unconscious and unreflective mingling of their thoughts and his about the inglorious world in which they both exist, made possible the expression of many motives and themes which could not, perhaps, have come into the tradition of the novel without Defoe's shock tactics: motives such as economic egoism and social alienation; and themes such as the conflicts between old and new sets of values as they are manifested in daily life. Very few writers have created for themselves both a new subject and a new literary form to embody it. Defoe did both. In his somewhat monocular concentration on making his matter seem absolutely convincing, there was much he did not see. But what is left out is probably the price for what is so memorably and unprecedentedly put in."

"Daniel Defoe is one of the great professionals in all these centuries of secret service, a discreet giant among the legions of straining, posturing and boastfully "confiding" amateurs. Defoe, be it known, was in himself almost a complete secret service during the reign of the last Stuart sovereign of Britain; and he is our strongly endorsed candidate for everybody's "favorite secret agent" of these annals."

"Used on a more limited scale, these schemes of balance can seem impressively artless, especially when they bring to an aphoristic point a loosely strung series of thoughts or events: one celebrated example is Moll's summary of the joint career of two fellow criminals: "In short, they robb'd together, lay together, were taken together, and at last were hang'd together." My object, however, is not to vindicate Defoe's endeavors toward stylistic balance and formality, let alone to maintain that they are the most common or distinctive feature of his prose, but simply to suggest, by calling attention to their existence, that immethodical homespun garrulity is not Defoe's only style."

"Roxana adds feminist ideology to Moll's praxis. But instead of violently appropriating the masculine like Mrs. Manley's grotesque Zarah, she aspires to a new category and actually declares that her ultimate ambition lies in a powerful androgyny. When an eminent merchant proposes marriage, she refuses in the name of liberty: "and seeing Liberty seem'd to be the Men's Property, I wou'd be a Man-Woman; for as I was born free, I wou'd die so". Roxana has a fully articulated ideology of freedom which grasps very clearly the central problem that she solves in her book, the loss of self attendant upon being merely a woman."

"So far as I can tell, no narrator in realistic prose fiction before H. F. [the narrator of A Journal of the Plague Year] reveals this type of general sympathy for the human condition. I do not find it in those fictions of Defoe influenced by picaresque models. In Moll Flanders and Colonel Jack there is too much of a concern with self and individual experience to have the kind of combination of sympathy and detachment to be found in H. F. And the same may said of "poor Robinson Crusoe," as the parrot calls Defoe's castaway. Crusoe obviously has to teach his parrot to repeat that self-pitying title. Like Fielding's humane historian, H. F. resists all temptation to blame and scold. He is the invention of a moment in English history when Defoe wanted to spread feelings of hope and charity. In the process, he set a pattern for fictional narrators that has been central to the development of the novel."

"[Moll Flanders is a] novel of lust, survival and protofeminist spirit. Virginia Woolf loved the book. So would Howard Stern."

"Daniel Defoe's Tour thro' the Whole Island of Great Britain has long been recognized as a key book of its age. It has been lauded by the most eminent historians as a prime source of understanding for Britain in the eighteenth century (indeed, for understanding the birth of the modern, on a global scale), and remains one of the most-quoted works in general surveys of the period."

"Defoe's writings are of the highest value as an historical indication of the state of the middle and lower classes of his time."

"Defoe is a writer of ready invention but no imagination—with none of the personal attributes which, fused together somehow, make imagination. His narrative runs smoothly, evenly, convincingly; the best thing about it is his vigorous, unornamented English. There is a strong weave in the sentences as they follow each other that gives pleasure to the eye, as the feel of good hand-woven linen does to the fingertips. But after a while one demands something more. There is never a change of tempo, never a modulation of voice, or a quickening of sympathy."

"He [Adam Smith] quoted some passages in Defoe, which breathed, as he thought, the true spirit of English verse."

"The allegory does not come from nowhere; a certain culture offers it to us, imposes it on us for its own purposes, fictively reducing us to the condition of being completely cut off in order to force us—even while dazzling us with its own "riches"—to judge our needs, our productions, our values, our cultural heritage, by the sole light of necessity. Robinson's adventure takes its place in the economic history of the West at the precise moment when the relation between the rates of population growth and those of good supplies inverted itself, the latter finally surpassing the former: Robinson is the man for whom population, or reproduction, is not an issue, at least in its natural, biological form; he's the producer who has to know about nothing but his own sustenance."

"That Robertson, however, had carefully studied the best writers, with a view to acquire genuine Anglicism, cannot be doubted. He was intimately acquainted with Swift's writings; indeed, he regarded him as eminently skilled in the narrative art. He had the same familiarity with Defoe, and had formed the same high estimate of his historical powers. I know, that when a Professor in another University consulted him on the best discipline for acquiring a good narrative style, previous to drawing up John Bell of Antermony's Travels across Russia to Tartary and the Chinese Wall, the remarkable advice he gave him was to read Robinson Crusoe carefully; and when the Professor was astonished, and supposed it was a jest, the historian said he was quite serious: but if Robinson Crusoe would not help him, or he was above studying Defoe, then he recommended Gulliver's Travels."

"Often massacred and butcher’d, and sometimes quite driven away by the Fury of the Savages, often starv’d out and famished, and either the whole Body of Planters wasted, and perishing with Cold and Want, and as often being reduc’d to Extremities, forc’d to abandon the Country in the utmost Distress, and return starving home."

"Not discouraged by the Severity of the Cold, by the Surface over-grown with Briars and Thorns, by the early Opposition of the Natives, a Race of People fierce and false, untractable, treacherous, irreconcilable, bloody and merciless, even to the most horrible, and almost inexpressible Cruelties, who would rarely make Peace, and more rarely keep their Agreements when made."

"But never to be discouraged, how have they by the meer Force of indefatigable Application, planted, inhabited, cultivated those inhospitable Climates, those suppos’d barren Countries, those trifling little Spots of Islands, not thought worth looking at by the Spaniards? How have they brought them to be the richest, the most improved, and the most flourishing Colonies in all that Part of the World? So populous, so fortify’d, the People so rich, the Product so great; and which is more than all, so adapted to Commerce, so universally embarked in Trade, that it is at this Time an unresolved Doubt, whether brings the greatest Wealth to Europe, take the Exportations and Consumptions of Manufacture there into the Account of the Return, the Sugars, Tobacco, and other rich Productions of the British and French Colonies; the Fish, the Corn, the Flesh, the Furrs, &c. I say, Which are the greatest in Value, these, or the Gold and Silver of Mexico and Peru?"

"[T]he Art of War is so well study’d, and so equally known in all Places, that ’tis the longest Purse that conquers now, not the longest Sword. If there is any Country whose People are less martial, less enterprising, and less able for the Field; yet, if they have but more Money than their Neighbours, they shall soon be superior to them in Strength, for Money is Power."

"But let us turn our Eyes now and view the Effects of the improving English Genius, the Colonies of New-England and Virginia, despis’d by the Spaniards, as well before we discover’d them, as afterwards; for the same Columbus, which discover’d New-Spain, discoverd all the Northern Coast, but left it again as not worth while to plant and possess it. I say, these barren, cold, poor and uncultivated Climates, the Leavings of the Spaniards, How have we improved upon them to infinite Advantages?"

"But not to weigh the Particulars, and come to reckon by Ounces and Drams, this is certain, and will be granted, that the Product of our improved Colonies raises infinitely more Trade, employs more Hands, and I think, I may say by Consequence, brings in more Wealth to this one particular Nation or People, the English, than all the Mines of New Spain do to the Spaniards."

"[Robinson Crusoe is] fam'd from Tuttle Street to Limehouse-hole. There is not an old Woman, that can go the Price of it, but buys thy ‘Life and Adventures,’ and leaves it as a Legacy with the ‘Pilgrim's Progress’, the ‘Practice of Piety,’ and ‘God's Revenge against Murther,’ to her Posterity."

"A woman well bred and well taught, furnished with the additional accomplishments of knowledge and behaviour, is a creature without comparison. Her society is the emblem of sublimer enjoyments, her person is angelic, and her conversation heavenly. She is all softness and sweetness, peace, love, wit, and delight. She is every way suitable to the sublimest wish, and the man that has such a one to his portion, has nothing to do but to rejoice in her, and be thankful."