Robert Louis Stevenson, fully Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson

Robert Louis
Stevenson, fully Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson
1850
1894

Scottish Novelist, Poet, Essayist and Travel Writer, known books include Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

Author Quotes

Three,' reckoned the captain, 'ourselves make seven, counting Hawkins, here. Now, about honest hands?' Most likely Trelawney's own men, said the doctor; 'those he had picked up for himself, before he lit on Silver.' Nay,' replied the squire. 'Hands was one of mine.' I did think I could have trusted Hands,' added the captain.

Time which none can bind.

There is no progress whatever. Everything is just the same as it was thousands, and tens of thousands, of years ago. The outward form changes. The essence does not change.

There is only one difference between a long life and a good dinner: that, in the dinner, the sweets come last.

There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it behooves all of us not to talk about the rest of us.

There was a man in the island of Hawaii, whom I shall call Keawe; for the truth is, he still lives, and his name must be kept secret; but the place of his birth was not far from Honaunau, where the bones of Keawe the Great lie hidden in a cave.

There's just ae thing I cannae bear, an' that's my conscience.

There is but one art, to omit.

There is certainly some chill and arid knowledge to be found upon the summits of formal and laborious science; but it is all round about you, and for the trouble of looking, that you will acquire the warm and palpitating facts of life.

There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy. By being happy we sow anonymous benefits upon the world.

There is no duty we so underrate as the duty of being happy. By being happy we sow anonymous benefits upon the world.

There is no foreign land; it is the traveler only that is foreign, and now and again, by a flash of recollection, lights up the contrasts of the ear.

There is an idea abroad among moral people that they should make their neighbors good. One person I have to make good: Myself. But my duty to my neighbor is much more nearly expressed by saying that I have to make him happy if I may.

There is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude, and which, rightly understood, is solitude made perfect.

There is a kind of gaping admiration that would fain roll Shakespeare and Bacon into one, to have a bigger thing to gape at; and a class of men who cannot edit one author without disparaging all others.

There is a sort of dead-alive, hackneyed people about, who are scarcely conscious of living except in the exercise of some conventional occupation. ... They have no curiosity; they cannot give themselves over to random provocations; they do not take pleasure in the exercise of their faculties for its own sake; and unless necessity lays about them with a stick, they will even stand still. It is no good speaking to such folk: they cannot be idle, their nature is not generous enough; and they pass those hours in a sort of coma, which are not dedicated to furious moiling in the gold-mill.

There is a strong feeling in favor of cowardly and prudential proverbs. The sentiments of a man while he is full of ardor and hope are to be received, it is supposed, with some qualification. But when the same person has ignominiously failed and begins to eat up his words, he should be listened to like an oracle. Most of our pocket wisdom is conceived for the use of mediocre people, to discourage them from ambitious attempts, and generally console them in their mediocrity. And since mediocre people constitute the bulk of humanity, this is no doubt very properly so. But it does not follow that the one sort of proposition is any less true than the other, or that Icarus is not to be more praised, and perhaps more envied, than Mr. Samuel Budgett the Successful Merchant. The one is dead, to be sure, while the other is still in his counting-house counting out his money; and doubtless this is a consideration. But we have, on the other hand, some bold and magnanimous sayings common to high races and natures, which set forth the advantage of the losing side, and proclaim it better to be a dead lion than a living dog. It is difficult to fancy how the mediocrities reconcile such sayings with their proverbs. According to the latter, every lad who goes to sea is an egregious ass; never to forget your umbrella through a long life would seem a higher and wiser flight of achievement than to go smiling to the stake; and so long as you are a bit of a coward and inflexible in money matters, you fulfil the whole duty of man.

Then it was that there came into my head the first of the mad notions that contributed so much to saving our lives.

There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.

There are two things that men should never weary of, goodness and humility; we get none too much of them in this rough world among cold, proud people.

There are, indeed, few merrier spectacles than that of many windmills bickering together in a fresh breeze over a woody country; their halting alacrity of movement, their pleasant business, making bread all day with uncouth gesticulation; their air, gigantically human, as of a creature half alive, put a spirit of romance into the tamest landscape.

There comes an end to all things; the most capacious measure is filled at last; and this brief condescension to evil finally destroyed the balance of my soul.

There is a certain frame of mind to which a cemetery is, if not an antidote, at least an alleviation. If you are in a fit of the blues, go nowhere else.

Thems that die'll be the lucky ones.

The workpeople, to be sure, were most annoyingly slow, but time cured that.

Author Picture
First Name
Robert Louis
Last Name
Stevenson, fully Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson
Birth Date
1850
Death Date
1894
Bio

Scottish Novelist, Poet, Essayist and Travel Writer, known books include Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde