Anglo-catholicism, reaction and whimsy

I discussed over the weekend whether this was a quotation book for conversation. I think it is, though the bon mots would have be exceptionally bon. However, it is certainly a place for excellently written bloggage, of which the following is an exemplar. It's from my favourite blog at the moment, which I would urge you all to read. Anyway, I can't decide which of these two bits is best, so I'll have both:

'We advertise our letters as containing Anglo-catholicism, reaction and whimsy; but like all Church of England publications we actually cover mostly the gays, internal church politics, and nostalgia for an impossibly golden age. For most Anglicans this utopia is the 1950s: for us, true to form, the 1670s. Or possibly the 1630s. Certainly not the 1650s, though.

... 

We encourage you to speak again more of kings than of queens; to become once again the Tory party at prayer. The seventeenth-century Tory party at prayer, of course. Not today's soi-disant version.'

S.Fisher, Posing as a Jacobite, retrieved 22 May 2013 from http://plumsteadletters.blogspot.co.uk/

<http://plumsteadletters.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/posing-as-jacobite.html>

One who has read his Thomas Hardy and learned from that pessimistic author's works

It is not too much to say that at this point in his progress Lord Emsworth was feeling calm, confident and carefree; but a wise friend, one who has read his Thomas Hardy and learned from that pessimistic author's  works how often and how easily human enterprises are ruined by some unforeseen Act of God, would have warned him against any premature complacency. One never knew, he would have pointed out, around what corner fate might not be waiting with the stocking full of sand, 'Watch your step, Emsworth,' he would have said.

P.G. Wodehouse, A Pelican at Blandings (1969), 171

Gustave Flaubert ... would have described her as being mad as a wet hen.

She [Constance] was thinking of Alaric, Duke of Dunstable, and a stylist like Gustave Flaubert, with his flair for the mot juste, would have described her as being mad as a wet hen.

P.G. Wodehouse, A Pelican at Blandings (1969), 116

The resentment of a woman who sees an abstract idea triumphing over common sense.

She looked at him helplessly. After all, it was no use. There was this money-business standing in the way—these meaningless scruples which she had never understood but which she had accepted merely because they were his. She felt all the impotence, the resentment of a woman who sees an abstract idea triumphing over common sense. How maddening it was, that he should let himself be pushed into the gutter by a thing like that!

G. Orwell, Keep the aspidistra flying (1936), 217

The working class, if you like, then. But they smell just the same.

'Of course I know you’re a Socialist. So am I. I mean we’re all Socialists nowadays. But I don’t see why you have to give all your money away and make friends with the lower classes. You can be a Socialist and have a good time, that’s what I say.’
‘Hermione, dear, please don’t call them the lower classes!’
‘Why not? They are the lower classes, aren’t they?’
‘It’s such a hateful expression. Call them the working class, can’t you?’
‘The working class, if you like, then. But they smell just the same.’
‘You oughtn’t to say that kind of thing,’ he protested weakly.
‘Do you know, Philip, sometimes I think you like the lower classes.’
‘Of course I like them.’
‘How disgusting. How absolutely disgusting.’

G. Orwell, Keep the aspidistra flying (1936), 108-9

Every intelligent boy of sixteen is a Socialist. At that age one does not see the hook sticking out of the rather stodgy bait.

Every intelligent boy of sixteen is a Socialist. At that age one does not see the hook sticking out of the rather stodgy bait.

G. Orwell, Keep the aspidistra flying (1936), 46

I ain't a nigger any more. I done been abolished

'Do you know what I ain't?' he said.
'What?' I said.
'I ain't a nigger any more. I done been abolished.'

W. Faulkner, The Unvanquished (1938), 137

A good rough test is the weight of his tombstone

No need to repeat the blasphemous comments which everyone who had known Gran’pa Comstock made on that last sentence. But it is worth pointing out that the chunk of granite on which it was inscribed weighed close on five tons and was quite certainly put there with the intention, though not the conscious intention, of making sure that Gran’pa Comstock shouldn’t get up from underneath it. If you want to know what a dead man’s relatives really think of him, a good rough test is the weight of his tombstone

G. Orwell, Keep the aspidistra flying (1936), 40