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— Now my father had a way, a little like that of <i>Job</i>'s (in case there ever was such a man — if not, there's an end of the matter. — Though, by… - Laurence Sterne
" "— Now my father had a way, a little like that of Job's (in case there ever was such a man — if not, there's an end of the matter. — Though, by the bye, because your learned men find some difficulty in fixing the precise æra in which so great a man lived; — whether, for instance, before or after the patriarchs, &c. — to vote, therefore, that he never lived at all, is a little cruel, — 'tis not doing as they would be done by — happen that as it — My father, I say, had a way, when things went extremely wrong with him, especially upon the first sally of his impatience — of wondering why he was begot, — wishing himself dead; — sometimes worse: —
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About Laurence Sterne
Laurence Sterne (24 November 1713 – 18 March 1768) was an Anglo-Irish novelist and an Anglican clergyman. He is best known for his novels The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, and A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy; but he also published sermons, wrote memoirs, and was involved in local politics.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Alternative Names:
Lorens Stern
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Additional quotes by Laurence Sterne
For I can truly say, that from the first hour I drew my breath in it, to this, that i can now scarce draw it at all, for an asthma I got in scating against the wind in Flanders; I have been the continual sport of what the world calls Fortune; and though i will not wrong her by saying, She has ever made me feel the weight of any great or signal evil; yet with all the good temper in the world, I affirm it of her, That in every stage of my life, and at every turn and corner where she could get fairly at me, the ungracious Duchess has pelted me with a set of as pitiful misadventures and cross accidents as ever small Hero sustained.
I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and cry, ‘Tis all barren — and so it is; and so is all the world to him who will not cultivate the fruits it offers. I declare, said I, clapping my hands chearily together, that was I in a desart, I would find out wherewith in it to call forth my affections — If I could not do better, I would fasten them upon some sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to — I would court their shade, and greet them kindly for their protection — I would cut my name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest trees throughout the desert: if their leaves wither’d, I would teach myself to mourn, and when they rejoiced, I would rejoice along with them.
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