"Stunning, isn't it?" he said then, giving her arm an affectionate pressure.
"Yes, it's all right. What business is it of yours?"
Charley turned his … - William Somerset Maugham
"Stunning, isn't it?" he said then, giving her arm an affectionate pressure. "Yes, it's all right. What business is it of yours?" Charley turned his head sharply. No one had ever asked him a question like that about a picture before. "What on earth d'you mean? It's one of the great portraits of the world. Titian, you know." "I daresay. But what's it got to do with you?" Charley didn't quite know what to say. "Well, it's a very fine picture and it's beautifully painted. Of course it doesn't tell a story if that's what you mean." "No, I don't," she smiled. "I don't suppose it's got anything to do with me really." "Then why should you bother about it?"
English
Collect this quote
About
William Somerset Maugham
William Somerset Maugham (25 January 1874 – 16 December 1965) was an English playwright, novelist, and short story writer; often published as simply W. Somerset Maugham.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Carl Van Vechten (1880 - 1964) (Public domain / CC0)
Also Known As
Alternative Names:
W. Somerset Maugham
•
Somerset Maugham
It is very difficult to know people and I don't think one can ever really know any but one's own countrymen. For men and women are not only themselves; they are also the region in which they are born, the city apartment or the farm in which they learnt to walk, the games they played as children, the old wives' tales they overheard, the food they ate, the schools they attended, the sports they followed, the poets they read, and the God they believed in. It is all these things that have made them what they are, and these are the things that you can't come to know by hearsay, you can only know them if you have lived them.
I happen to think we’ve set our ideal on the wrong objects; I happen to think that the greatest ideal man can set before himself is self-perfection.
Go Premium
Support Quotewise while enjoying an ad-free experience and premium features.
I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history.
