We are not living in a private world of our own.
JOHN GALSWORTHYLove of beauty is really only the sex instinct, which nothing but complete union satisfies.
More John Galsworthy Quotes
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Westminster, was so unobtrusively American that his driver had some hesitation in asking for double his fare. The young man had no hesitation in refusing it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love has no age, no limit; and no death.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love! Beyond measure – beyond death – it nearly kills. But one wouldn’t have been without it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Idealism increases in direct proportion to one’s distance from the problem.
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.
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See what perils do environ those who meddle with hot iron.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
There are moments when Nature reveals the passion hidden beneath the careless calm of her ordinary moods-violent spring flashing white on almond-blossom through the purple clouds.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Danger so indispensable in bringing out the fundamental quality of any society, group, or individual was what the Forsytes scented; the premonition of danger put a burnish on their armour.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Religion was nearly dead because there was no longer real belief in future life; but something was struggling to take its place – service – social service – the ants creed, the bees creed.
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.
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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.
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The talked-about is always the last to hear the talk . . .
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Memory heaps dead leaves on corpse-like deeds, from under which they do but vaguely offend the sense.
JOHN GALSWORTHY