It isnot good enough tospend time and ink indescribing the penultimate sensations and physical movements of people getting into a state of rut, we all know them so well.
JOHN GALSWORTHYHumanism is the creed of those who believe that in the circle of enwrapping mystery, men’s fates are in their own hands.
More John Galsworthy Quotes
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Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
The sense of form that both had in such high degree prevented much demonstration; but to be with him, do things for him, to admire, and credit him with perfection; and, since she could not exactly wear the same clothes or speak in the same clipped, quiet, decisive voice.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love of beauty is really only the sex instinct, which nothing but complete union satisfies.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Such was not quite the condition of Timothy’s on the Bayswater Road, for Timothy’s soul still had one foot in Timothy Forsyte’s body, and Smither kept the atmosphere unchanging, of camphor and port wine and house whose windows are only opened to air it twice a day.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Beauty means this to one person, perhaps, and that to the other. And yet when any one of us has seen or heard or read that which to us is beautiful.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Slang is vigorous and apt. Probably most of our vital words were once slang.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Under its influence, wholly or in part, have blossomed weekends, strong nerves, strong legs, strong language… equality of sex, good digestion and professional occupation – in four words, the emanicipation of women.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love! Beyond measure – beyond death – it nearly kills. But one wouldn’t have been without it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Only love makes fruitful the soul.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
One can even tell the nature of one’s readers, by their preference for the work which reveals more of this side than of that.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Only love makes fruitful the soul.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
The law is what it is-a majestic edifice, sheltering all of us, each stone of which rests on another.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
And to be stolen away from ourselves by Art is a momentary relaxation from that itching, a minute’s profound, and as it were secret, enfranchisement.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Come! Let us lay a lance in rest, And tilt at windmills under a wild sky!
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
It’s not life that counts but the fortitude you bring into it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY