Robertson Davies Quotes

Ti si Boga stvorio po sopstvenoj slici, pa kad si otkrio da nije dobar, prestao si da veruješ u Njega. To je sasvim uobičajen vid psihološkog samoubistva

"He fetched a large and unpleasant-looking rag from under his pillow and blew his nose loud and long. "E flat," said he, when he had finished. "Funny, I never seem to blow twice on the same note. You’d think that the nose, under equal pressure, and all that, would behave predictably, but it doesn’t. See this?" He held out the rag. "Piece of an old bedsheet; never blow your nose on paper, Bridgetower. Save old bedsheets for when you have a cold. They’re the only comfort in a really bad cold, and the only way of reckoning its virulence. I consider this to be a two-sheet cold.

I am like a man who has built his house on the lip of a volcano. Until the volcano claims me I live, in a sense, heriocally.

My own idea is that when He comes again it will be to continue his ministry as an old man. I am an old man and my life has been spent as a soldier of Christ, and I tell you that the older I grow the less Christ's teachings says to me. I am sometimes very conscious that I am following the path of a leader who died when He was less than half as old as I am now. I see and feel things He never saw or felt. I know things He seems to never have known. Everybody wants a Christ for himself and those who think like him. Very well, am I at fault for wanting a Christ who will show me how to be an old man? All Christ's teaching is put forth with the dogmatism, the certainty, and the strength of youth: I need something that takes account of the accretion of experience, the sense of paradox and ambiguity that comes with years! I think after forty we should recognize Chirst politely but turn for our comfort and guidance to God the Father, who knows the good and evil of life, and to the Holy Ghost, who posses a widsom beyond that of the incarnated Christ. After all, we worship a Trinigty, of which Christ is but one Person. I think when He comes again it will be to declare the unity of the life of the flesh and the life of the spirit. And then perhaps we shall make some sense of this life of the marvels, cruel circumstances, obscenities, and commonplaces. Who can tell? — we might even make it bearable for everybody.

He came of a generation to which any girl, before she is married, is a kind of unexploded bomb.

Hubbard was a notoriously queer American

The borborygmy, or rumbling of the stomach, has not received the attention from either art or science which it deserves. It is as characteristic of each individual as the tone of the voice. It can be vehement, plaintive, ejaculatory, conversational, humorous — its variety is boundless. But there are few who are prepared to give it an understanding ear; it is dismissed too often with embarrassment or low wit.

"... that impatient, all-demanding child who wants love and power and can't get enough of either and who goes on raging and weeping in your spirit till at last your eyes are closed and all the fools say, "Doesn't he look peaceful?" It is those pent-up, craving children who make all the wars and all the horrors and all the art and all the beauty and discovery in life, because they are trying to achieve what lay beyond their grasp before they were five years old."

Who is she? That is what you must discover, Ramezay, and you must find your answer in psychological truth, not in objective truth. You will not find out quickly, I am sure. And while you are searching, get on with your own life and accept the possibility that it may be purchased at the price of hers and that this may be God's plan for you and her.

"I think I'd rather get a job."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Jobs are for people who need them. You don't need one. You'd be taking it from somebody else who did."

"I suppose you really like them dirty," said Miss Vyner. "That’s it. Dirty and full of divine mystery," said Cobbler, rolling his eyes and kissing his fingers. “Sheer connoisseurship, I confess, but I’ve always preferred a bit of ripened cheese to a scientifically packaged breakfast food.

Oh, yes, there was a witch; there are always witches where there are children.

This looked like an adventure, and, at fifty, adventures do not come every day.

It was plain that he had had a lot of training, for nobody ever sang so by the light of Nature.

If I tarted up in a nice suit and a clean collar, I could spend hours and hours every week jawing to Rotary Clubs about what fine music is and how I am just as good as they are. I'm not as good as they are, praise be God! I am a honest citizen, I am not fit to black their boots.