Port is not for the very young, the vain and the active. It is the comfort of age and the companion of the scholar and the philosopher.
EVELYN WAUGHPort is not for the very young, the vain and the active. It is the comfort of age and the companion of the scholar and the philosopher.
EVELYN WAUGHI haven’t been to sleep for over a year. That’s why I go to bed early. One needs more rest if one doesn’t sleep.
EVELYN WAUGHThe great charm in argument is really finding one’s own opinions, not other people’s.
EVELYN WAUGHCharm is the great English blight. It does not exist outside these damp islands. It spots and kills anything it touches. It kills love; it kills art; I greatly fear, my dear Charles, it has killed you.
EVELYN WAUGHAnyone could write a novel given six weeks, pen paper, and no telephone or wife.
EVELYN WAUGHThe human mind is inspired enough when it comes to inventing horrors; it is when it tries to invent a Heaven that it shows itself cloddish.
EVELYN WAUGHWhere can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?
EVELYN WAUGHHere I am,’ I thought, ‘back from the jungle, back from the ruins. Here, where wealth is no longer gorgeous and power has no dignity.
EVELYN WAUGHI’m quite deaf now; such a comfort.
EVELYN WAUGHMy children weary me. I can only see them as defective adults: feckless, destructive, frivolous, sensual, humorless.
EVELYN WAUGHWords should be an intense pleasure just as leather should be to a shoemaker.
EVELYN WAUGHIf you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.
EVELYN WAUGHI put the words down and push them a bit.
EVELYN WAUGHHe had no strength for any other war than his own solitary struggle to keep alive.
EVELYN WAUGHThe only thing that it is advisable to know in any language is the numerals; and even there, you can do a lot with the fingers.
EVELYN WAUGHOf the many smells of Athens two seem to me the most characteristic – that of garlic, bold and deadly like acetylene gas. and that of dust, soft and warm and caressing like tweed.
EVELYN WAUGH