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My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. We possess nothing certainly except the past.
Evelyn Waugh
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Evelyn Waugh
Age: 62 †
Born: 1903
Born: October 28
Died: 1966
Died: April 10
Autobiographer
Diarist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
War Correspondent
Writer
Evelyn Arthur St John Waugh
Arthur Evelyn St. John Waugh
Time
Memory
Except
Certainly
Soared
Memories
Winged
Morning
Grey
War
Host
Past
Possess
Nothing
Theme
More quotes by Evelyn Waugh
The languor of Youth - how unique and quintessential it is! How quickly, how irrecoverably, lost!
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It is a curious thing... that every creed promises a paradise which will be absolutely uninhabitable for anyone of civilized taste.
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He did not fail in love, but he lost the joy of it [...]
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Not everyone grows to be old, but everyone has been younger than he is now.
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Professional reviewers read so many bad books in the course of duty that they get an unhealthy craving for arresting phrases.
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If one's object is ascetic, it is far better to stay in London or Paris or New York there is practically no extreme of heat or cold, physical risk, loneliness, hunger or thirst that cannot, with a little ingenuity, be conveniently achieved in the centres of civilization.
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That was the change in her from ten years ago that, indeed, was her reward, this haunting, magical sadness which spoke straight to the heart and struck silence it was the completion of her beauty.
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Almost all crime is due to the repressed desire for aesthetic expression.
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We cherish our friends not for their ability to amuse us, but for ours to amuse them...
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Conversation should be like juggling up go the balls and plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and fall with a bang if you miss them.
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MGM bores me when I see them, but I don't see them much. They have been a help in getting me introductions to morticians, who are the only people worth knowing.
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Remember that, however patient your study, you will never in adult life learn any language perfectly the best you can hope for is to be a bore.
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I'm quite deaf now such a comfort.
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Limbo is the place. In Limbo one has natural happiness without the beatific vision no harps no communal order but wine and conversation and imperfect, various humanity. Limbo for the unbaptized, for the pious heathen, the sincere sceptic.
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Once you start changing a name, you see, there's no reason ever to stop. One always hears one that sounds better.
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But I was in search of love in those days, and I went full of curiosity and the faint, unrecognized apprehension that here, at last, I should find that low door in the wall, which others, I knew, had found before me, which opened on an enclosed and enchanted garden, which was somewhere, not overlooked by any window, in the heart of that grey city.
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