The beer had been far too inadequate to make them drunk; it made them only moody and reflective

One of the infrequent rations of beer was given out the same night, and the men finished their three cans quickly, and sat around without saying very much,. The beer had been far too inadequate to make them drunk; it made them only moody and reflective, it opened the gate to all their memories, and left them sad, hungering for things they could not name.

N. Mailer, The naked and the dead (1948), 258

Kennington! What a place for a poet to die!

'I wish you had left him in Soho,' he said, with a wave of his long, thin hands. 'There was a touch of romance in that sordid attic. I could even bear it if it were Wapping or Shoreditch, but the respectability of Kennington! What a place for a poet to die!'

W. Somerset Maugham, Of human bondage (1915), 475

Church of England services ... harmless enough compared to murder.

What your grandfather would feel if he knew we had the police in the house - it's enough to make him turn in his grave. A strict Plymouth Brother he was all his life. The fuss there was when he found out I'd been attending Church of England services in the evening! And I'm sure that was harmless enough compared to murder.

A. Christie, A pocket full of rye (1953), 87

Enthusiasm was ill-bred. Enthusiasm was ungentlemanly.

It was Winks who summed up the general impression and put it into a form they all felt was conclusively damning
...

'He's very enthusiastic,' said Winks.

Enthusiasm was ill-bred. Enthusiasm was ungentlemanly. They thought of the Salvation Army wit its braying trumpets and its drums. Enthusiasm meant change. They had goose-flesh when they thought of all the pleasant old habits which stood in imminent danger. They hardly dared to look forward to the future at all.

W. Somerset Maugham, Of human bondage (1925), 65

It had a reputation for few gods and great violence. But good schools

Despite attending a nominally Christian school, I had not yet been inside a church - and I wasn't about to dare the deed now. I knew very little about the religion. It had a reputation for few gods and great violence. But good schools.

Y. Martel, Life of Pi (2002), 51

The modern world ... the last two thousand years — just oughtn’t to have happened.

[I]t tickles me, in 1938, to find someone objecting to having a radio in the house. Porteous was strolling up and down in his usual dreamy way, with his hands in his coat pockets and his pipe between his teeth, and almost instantly he’d begun talking about some law against musical instruments that was passed in Athens in the time of Pericles. It’s always that way with old Porteous. All his talk is about things that happened centuries ago. Whatever you start off with it always comes back to statues and poetry and the Greeks and Romans. If you mention the Queen Mary he’d start telling you about Phoenician triremes. He never reads a modern book, refuses to know their names, never looks at any newspaper except The Times, and takes a pride in telling you that he’s never been to the pictures. Except for a few poets like Keats and Wordsworth he thinks the modern world — and from his point of view the modern world is the last two thousand years — just oughtn’t to have happened.

G. Orwell, Coming up for Air (1939), 155

But this one, it seems, is a different kind of Communist and not-quite, because he’s what they call a Trotskyist

Immediately in front of me the local Communist Party branch were sitting. All three of them very young. One of them’s got money and is something in the Hesperides Estate Company, in fact I believe he’s old Crum’s nephew. Another’s a clerk at one of the banks. He cashes cheques for me occasionally. A nice boy, with a 

round, very young, eager face, blue eyes like a baby, and hair so fair that you’d think he peroxided it. He only looks about seventeen, though I suppose he’s twenty. He was wearing a cheap blue suit and a bright blue tie that went with his hair. Next to these three another Communist was sitting. But this one, it seems, is a different kind of Communist and not-quite, because he’s what they call a Trotskyist. The others have got a down on him. He’s even younger,a very thin, very dark, nervous-looking boy. Clever face. Jew, of course. These four were taking the lecture quite differently from the others. You knew they’d be on their feet the moment question-time started. You could see them kind of twitching already. And the little Trotskyist working himself from side to side on his bum in his anxiety to get in ahead of the others.

G. Orwell, Coming up for Air (1939), 147