J. B. Priestly, fully John Boynton Priestly

J. B.
Priestly, fully John Boynton Priestly
1894
1984

English Novelist, Playwright, Author, Broadcaster, Scriptwriter, Social Commentator and Man of Letters

Author Quotes

But some of us are beginning to pull well away, in our irritation, from... the exquisite tasters, the vintage snobs, the three-star Michelin gourmets. There is, we feel, a decent area somewhere between boiled carrots and Beluga caviar, sour plonk and Chateau Lafitte, where we can take care of our gullets and bellies without worshipping them.

I'm in the business of providing people with secondary satisfactions. It wouldn't have done me much good if they had all written their own plays, would it?

Our trouble is that we drink too much tea. I see in this the slow revenge of the Orient, which has diverted the Yellow River down our throats.

There was no respect for youth when I was young, and now that I am old, there is no respect for age, I missed it coming and going.

But the point is, now, at this moment, or any moment, we're only cross-sections of our real selves. What we really are is the whole stretch of ourselves, all our time, and when we come to the end of this life, all those selves, all our time, will be us - the real you, the real me. And then perhaps we'll find ourselves in another time, which is only another kind of dream.

In plain words; now that Britain has told the world she has the H-Bomb, she should announce as early as possible that she has done with it, that she proposes to reject, in all circumstances, nuclear warfare. This is not pacifism. There is no suggestion here of abandoning the immediate defence of this island...No, what should be abandoned is the idea of deterrence-by-threat-of-retaliation. There is no real security in it, no decency in it, no faith, hope, nor charity in it.

Perhaps it would be better not to be a writer, but if you must, then write.

They will review a book by a writer much older than themselves as if it were an over-ambitious essay by a second-year student . . . It is the little dons I complain about, like so many corgis trotting up, hoping to nip your ankles.

Comedy, we may say, is society protecting itself - with a smile.

In spite of recent jazzed-up one-day matches, cricket to be fully appreciated demands leisure, some sunny warm days and an understanding of its finer points.

Public opinion polls are rather like children in a garden, digging things up all the time to see how they're growing.

This country is geology by day and astronomy by night.

Depending upon shock tactics is easy, whereas writing a good play is difficult. Pubic hair is no substitute for wit.

It had the old double keyboard, an entirely different set of keys for capitals and figures, so that the paper seemed a long way off, and the machine was as big and solid as a battle cruiser. Typing was then a muscular activity. You could ache after it. If you were not familiar with those vast keyboards, your hand wandered over them like a child lost in a wood. The noise might have been that of a shipyard on the Clyde. You would no more have thought of carrying one of those grim structures as you would have thought of travelling with a piano.

She was a handsome woman of forty-five and would remain so for many years.

Those no-sooner-have-I-touched-the-pillow people are past my comprehension. There is something suspiciously bovine about them.

During dinner at the Dersinghams in Angel Pavement... Do you ever watch rugger, Golspie? Mr Dersingham demanded down the table. What, rugby? Haven't see a match for years, replied Mr Golspie. Prefer the other kind when I do watch one. Major Trape raised his eyebrows, What, you a soccah man? Not this professional stuff? Don't tell me you like that. What's the matter with it? Oh, come now! I mean, you can't possibly --I mean it's a dirty business, selling fellahs for money and so on, very unsporting.

Like its politicians and its wars, society has the teenagers it deserves.

Something in me resists the calendar expectation of happiness. Merry Christmas yourself! It mutters as it shapes a ghostly grin.

To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven.

A good holiday is one spent among people whose notions of time are vaguer than yours.

God can stand being told by Professor Ayer and Marghanita Laski that He doesn't exist.

Many a man is praised for his reserve and so-called shyness when he is simply too proud to risk making a fool of himself.

The Canadian is often a baffled man because he feels different from his British kindred and his American neighbors, sharply refused to be lumped together with either of them, yet cannot make plain his difference.

To say that these men paid their shillings to watch twenty-two hirelings kick a ball is merely to say that a violin is wood and catgut, that Hamlet is so much paper and ink.

Author Picture
First Name
J. B.
Last Name
Priestly, fully John Boynton Priestly
Birth Date
1894
Death Date
1984
Bio

English Novelist, Playwright, Author, Broadcaster, Scriptwriter, Social Commentator and Man of Letters