A Writer's Notebook (7 page)

Cockney
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“You are a 'andsome woman.” “Yes, abaht the feet.”

“You've said that before.” “Well, I say it be'ind now.”

“A 'andsome young man with a Roman shiped eye an' a cast in 'is nose.”

“How about our Sunday boots now?”

“You're very clever! 'Ow many did yer mother 'ave like you?”

“Yus, I've 'ad fifteen children, an' only two 'usbinds ter do it on.”

“Ah, wot a blessin' it 'ud be for your family if the Lord see fit ter tike yer.”

“I've 'ad two 'usbinds in my time, an' I 'ope to 'ave another before I die.”

“I do love yer, Florrie.” “Pore feller, wot you must suffer!”

A woman may be as wicked as she likes, but if she isn't pretty it won't do her much good.

“Oh, I should hate to be old. All one's pleasures go.”

“But others come.”

“What?”

“Well, for instance, the contemplation of youth. If I were your age I think it not improbable that I should think you a rather conceited and bumptious man: as it is I consider you a charming and amusing boy.”

I can't for the life of me remember who said this to me. Perhaps my Aunt Julia. Anyhow I'm glad I thought it worth making a note of
.

There is a pleasant irony in the gilded youth who goes to the devil all night and to eight o'clock Mass next morning.

At a dinner party one should eat wisely but not too well, and talk well but not too wisely.

The intellect is such a pliable and various weapon that man, provided with it, is practically bereft of all others; but it is a weapon of no great efficacy against instinct.

The history of human morals is very well brought to light in the course of literature: the writer, with whatever subject he deals, displays the code of morals of his own age. That is the great fault of historical novels; the characters portrayed,
while they do acts which are historical, comport themselves according to the moral standard of the writer's time. The inconsequence is obvious.

People often feed the hungry so that nothing may disturb their own enjoyment of a good meal.

In moments of great excitement the common restraints of civilisation lose their force, and men return to the old law of a tooth for a tooth.

It is a false idea of virtue which thinks it demands the sacrifice of inclination and consists only in this sacrifice. An action is not virtuous merely because it is unpleasant to do.

The life of most men is merely a ceaseless toil to prepare food and home for their offspring; and these enter the world to perform exactly the same offices as their progenitors.

The more intelligent a man is the more capable is he of suffering.