Thomas Hardy


English Novelist, Poet and Victorian Realist

Author Quotes

Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down you'd treat if met where any bar is, or help to half-a-crown.

Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down you'd treat if met where any bar is, or help to half-a-crown.

Yet, though love is thus an end in itself, it must be believed to be the means to another end if it is to assume the rosy hues of an unalloyed pleasure.

Yonder a maid and her wight / Come whispering by: / War's annals will cloud into night/ Ere their story die.

You calculated how to be uncalculating, and are natural by art!

You can do anything with bayonets except sit on them.

You have never loved me as I love you--never--never! Yours is not a passionate heart--your heart does not burn in a flame! You are, upon the whole, a sort of fay, or sprite-- not a woman!

Whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?

You ride well, but you don't kiss nicely at all.

Where once we danced, where once we sang, Gentlemen, the floors are shrunken, cobwebs hang.

You was a good man, and did good things.

Where we are would be Paradise to me, if you would only make it so.

You, and those like you, take your fill of pleasure on earth by making the life of such as me bitter and black with sorrow; and then it is a fine thing, when you have had enough of that, to think of securing your pleasure in heaven by becoming converted!

Who's in the next room? - who? I seemed to see somebody in the dawning passing through, unknown to me.

Why doth IT so and so, and ever so, this viewless, voiceless Turner of the Wheel? The Dynasts. Fore Scene. Spirit of the Pities.

Why is it that a woman can see from a distance what a man cannot see close?

Why it was that upon this beautiful feminine tissue, sensitive as gossamer, and practically blank as snow as yet, there should have been traced such a coarse pattern as it was doomed to receive; why so often the coarse appropriates the finer thus, the wrong man the woman, the wrong women the man, many years of analytical philosophy have failed to explain to our sense of order

With all, the beautiful things of the earth become more dear as they elude pursuit; but with some natures utter elusion is the one special event which will make a passing love permanent for ever.

Yeobright had, in fact, found his vocation in the career of an itinerant open-air preacher and lecturer on morally unimpeachable subjects; . . . . He left alone creeds and systems of philosophy, finding enough and more than enough to occupy his tongue in the opinions and actions common to all good men. Some believed him, and some believed not; some said that his words were commonplace, others complained of his want of theological doctrine; while others again remarked that it was well enough for a man to take to preaching who could not see to do anything else. But everywhere he was kindly received, for the story of his life had become generally known.

And both of us, scorning parochial ways, / Had lived like the wives in the patriarchs' days.

Dialect words are those terrible marks of the beast to the truly genteel.

Happiness is but a mere episode in the general drama of pain.

If an offense come out of the truth, better is it that the offense come than that the truth be concealed.

Love is a possible strength in an actual weakness.

Pessimism is, in brief, playing the sure game. You cannot lose at it; you may gain. It is the only view of life in which you can never be disappointed. Having reckoned what to do in the worst possible circumstances, when better arise, as they may, life becomes child's play.

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English Novelist, Poet and Victorian Realist