Yet the deepest longing of Germans at the time ... was for the restoration of their national pride and recognition in the eyes of the world.

My family’s involvement with Nazism – their first excursion into any kind of politics – was not inspired by hatred of Jews, but by the vision of national revival that Hitler held out to them. ‘You have no idea what a terrible mood of disillusion and defeat there was in Germany before Hitler appeared on the scene and how he turned that round to one of optimism and hope,’ was my mother’s overriding memory of those days. Hitler had an uncanny instinct for touching the button of the innermost yearnings of the German heart. He promised most groups in society – an unhappy society, with a suicide rate three times that of Britain’s at the time – the things they craved: jobs, prosperity, security. Yet the deepest longing of Germans at the time, one that was apparently shared by most of the population, including my mother, was for the restoration of their national pride and recognition in the eyes of the world.

K. Fitzherbert, True to both my selves (1997), loc. 595

Heresies to others, they were of course orthodox in their own eyes

Christ was the Son of God. All agreed. But what was the Nature of Christ? The subtle Alexandrian intellect asked this question about the year 300, and the Arian heresy was the result. It asked it again about 400 and produced the Monophysite heresy. And a third query about 600 produced a third heresy, the Monothelite. Let us glance at these three in turn. Heresies to others, they were of course orthodox in their own eyes. Each believed itself the only interpreter of the link that binds God to Man.

E.M. Forester, Alexandria (1922), 43

The man who created and the woman who lost Alexandria have one element in common: monumental greatness

Yet for all their differences, the man who created and the woman who lost Alexandria have one element in common: monumental greatness; and between them is suspended, like a rare and fragile chain, the dynasty of the Ptolemies. It is a dynasty much censored by historians, but the Egyptians, who lived under it, were more tolerant. For it had one element of greatness: it did represent the complex country that it ruled. In Upper Egypt it carried on the tradition of the Pharaohs: on the coast it was Hellenistic and in touch with Mediterranean culture. After its extinction, the vigour of Alexandria turns inwards. She is to do big things in philosophy and religion. But she is no longer the capital of a kingdom, no longer Royal.

E.M. Forester, Alexandria (1922), 17

Greek accents—another doubtful boon—were also invented in the Mouseion

Hitherto the Greek language had developed unnoticed. Now it was consciously examined, and the result of the examination was the first Greek Grammar (about 100 B.C.). Grammar is a valuable subject but also a dangerous one, for it naturally attracts pedants and schoolmasters and all who think that Literature is an affair of rules. And the Grammarians of Alexandria forgot that they were merely codifying the usages of the past, and presumed to dictate to the present, and to posterity; they set a bad example that has been followed for nearly 2000 years. Greek accents—another doubtful boon—were also invented in the Mouseion. Indeed the whole of literary scholarship, as we know it, sprang up, including that curious by-product the Scholarly Joke.

E.M. Forester, Alexandria (1922), 22

Patronage is the glue that holds many fragile societies together

Domestic reformers and international activists are caught in a trap: policies that eliminate elite privileges and corruption are noble and well-intentioned, but in the short term they could increase political violence. Patronage is the glue that holds many fragile societies together. Ignoring this fact—pursuing anti-corruption or full democratization blind to the incentives of powerful armed actors—can risk a return to war. We forget this at great risk.

C. Blattman, Why we fight (2022), loc. 4292

No, no, no. I was talking about the treaty with Michael Collins in 1921

Adams and McGuinness came into Downing Street. They came down the long corridor that takes you to the cabinet room at the end of the building. And I brought them into the room and took them round to the far side of the table with the windows behind them. And in an attempt to break the ice, Martin McGuinness put his hands on the back of the chair and said, “So this is where the damage was done, then?” I was horrified. I said, “Yes. The IRA mortars landed in the garden behind you. The windows blew in. My brother, who was with John Major at the time, dragged him under the table to get him away from the falling glass.” And he looked horrified and said, “No, no, no. I was talking about the treaty with Michael Collins in 1921.” It was a completely different sense of history on the two sides. You had to break through this to have any chance of getting an understanding.

C. Blattman, Why we fight (2022), loc. 4078

Genocide is a tactic of the temporarily powerful

Instinctively, most of us think of such acts as the products of hatred and paranoia. Rwanda had both, to be sure. But this emphasis on psychological forces once again underestimates the cold strategic calculus behind mass killings and cleansings. Genocide is a tactic of the temporarily powerful. The logic should sound familiar by now: today’s majority can share a slice of the pie with the minority group for eternity, or they can pay a cost now and avoid having to bargain and share in the future. When the minority is expected to remain small and weak, it doesn’t make sense for the majority to pay the price of eliminating them. But if the minority is growing quickly in number, military might, or wealth, then the majority is faced with a diabolical decision akin to that of a Germany facing a rising Russia.

C. Blattman, Why we fight (2022), loc. 2230

For every gang war that ever was in Medellín, a thousand others have been averted through negotiation and trade

For every gang war that ever was in Medellín, a thousand others have been averted through negotiation and trade. Even though the valley is filled to its green peaks with hotheaded armed gang members, the combos of Medellín seldom go to war. They despise one another. They maneuver for drug plazas and prison hallways. They occasionally skirmish. But the region’s homicide rate is lower than that of many big American cities

C. Blattman, Why we fight (2022), loc. 670

The camel has his virtues—so much at least must be admitted; but they do not lie upon the surface

The camel has his virtues—so much at least must be admitted; but they do not lie upon the surface. My Buffon tells me, for instance, that he carries a fresh-water cistern in his stomach; which is meritorious. But the cistern ameliorates neither his gait nor his temper—which are abominable. Irreproachable as a beast of burden, he is open to many objections as a steed. It is unpleasant, in the first place, to ride an animal which not only objects to being ridden, but cherishes a strong personal antipathy to his rider. Such, however, is his amiable peculiarity. You know that he hates you, from the moment you first walk round him, wondering where and how to begin the ascent of his hump. He does not, in fact, hesitate to tell you so in the roundest terms. He swears freely while you are taking your seat; snarls if you but move in the saddle; and stares you angrily in the face, if you attempt to turn his head in any direction save that which he himself prefers. Should you persevere, he tries to bite your feet. If biting your feet does not answer, he lies down.

A. Edwards, A Thousand Miles Up The Nile (1877), 126

The pursuit of a procession is surely one of the most wearisome

Of all the things that people do by way of pleasure, the pursuit of a procession is surely one of the most wearisome. They generally go a long way to see it; they wait a weary time; it is always late; and when at length it does come, it is over in a few minutes.

A. Edwards, A Thousand Miles Up The Nile (1877), 21

It shuts out the sky and the horizon

The first glimpse that most travellers now get of the Pyramids is from the window of the railway carriage as they come from Alexandria; and it is not impressive. It does not take one's breath away, for instance, like a first sight of the Alps from the high level of the Neufchâtel line, or the outline of the Acropolis at Athens as one first recognises it from the sea. The well-known triangular forms look small and shadowy, and are too familiar to be in any way startling. And the same, I think, is true of every distant view of them,—that is, of every view which is too distant to afford the means of scaling them against other objects. It is only in approaching them, and observing how they grow with every foot of the road, that one begins to feel they are not so familiar after all. But when at last the edge of the desert is reached, and the long sand-slope climbed, and the rocky platform gained, and the Great Pyramid in all its unexpected bulk and majesty towers close above one's head, the effect is as sudden as it is overwhelming. It shuts out the sky and the horizon. It shuts out all the other Pyramids. It shuts out everything but the sense of awe and wonder.

A. Edwards, A Thousand Miles Up The Nile (1877), 14

A donkey-ride and a boating-trip interspersed with ruins

“Un voyage en égypte, c'est une partie d'ânes et une promenade en bateau entremêlées de ruines.” —Ampère.

Ampère has put Egypt in an epigram. “A donkey-ride and a boating-trip interspersed with ruins” does, in fact, sum up in a single line the whole experience of the Nile traveller. Apropos of these three things—the donkeys, the boat, and the ruins—it may be said that a good English saddle and a comfortable dahabeeyah add very considerably to the pleasure of the journey; and that the more one knows about the past history of the country, the more one enjoys the ruins. Of the comparative merits of wooden boats, iron boats, and steamers, I am not qualified to speak.

A. Edwards, A Thousand Miles Up The Nile (1877), 2

They usually ended up going back to the provinces, those, that is, who did not end up on the streets, or in jail, or in Indo-China.

Jacques had not wanted to have supper in his apartment because his cook had run away. His cooks were always running away. He was always getting young boys from the provinces, God knows how, to come up and be cooks; and they, of course, as soon as they were able to find their way around the capital, decided that cooking was the last thing they wanted to do. They usually ended up going back to the provinces, those, that is, who did not end up on the streets, or in jail, or in Indo-China.

J. Baldwin, Giovanni's Room (1956), 25

If I had had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home.

I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced. I think now that if I had had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home.

J. Baldwin, Giovanni's Room (1956), 21

You can’t stop a committee once it’s made up its mind to waste money

‘She can’t take on the government,’ Blatt and Unwin agreed at lunchtime the next day. ‘Not when it’s in spending mood. You can’t stop a committee once it’s made up its mind to waste money. She’ll just have to compromise and climb down in face of competition,

P. Fitzgerald, At Freddie’s (1982), 155

Directors realise that audiences are not likely to have much grip on Shakespeare’s King John

Directors realise that audiences are not likely to have much grip on Shakespeare’s King John. They hardly know what to expect, except perhaps something about Magna Carta, which doesn’t figure in the play at all. Perhaps Shakespeare had never heard of it. In any case, he presents King John as a patriot, misguided, certainly, when he connives at the torture of his nephew little Prince Arthur, but standing out to his last breath against France. In the high Victorian theatre the actor playing the king used to sweep the crown from his head during his death scene and even hurl it into the wings, partly to indicate magnificent failure, and partly to keep some attention for himself. By that time the audience had already seen little Arthur die and his mother Constance run mad, their handkerchiefs were soaked, they had no more tears to shed. King John himself was left ranting on, against unfair competition.

P. Fitzgerald, At Freddie’s (1982), 89

Most of them are rubbish and do not help me understand him

Got some of Hardy's poems out of Holborn library ... Most of them are rubbish and do not help me understand him. They make me think of him as wallowing and moaning and wishing for the olden days and that he hadn't been such a cunt to his wife.

N. Stibbe, cited in J. Rogers, 'Living in someone else's life', SF88 (2025), 55

Heaven might comprise eating foie gras to the sound of trumpets.

Meanwhile, Smith's Christianity was one we might all enjoy. With God he was on good terms. God is, he wrote, best served by 'regular tenour of good actions ... the luxury of a false religion is to be unhappy'. And, on a trip to Brussels, he noted 'I think, possibly correctly, that Heaven might comprise eating foie gras to the sound of trumpets.'

S. Bayley, 'Taking the short view', SF87 (2025), 25

Freddie herself had fulfilled the one sure condition of being loved by the English nation, that is, she had been going on a very long time

Freddie had no need to depend upon her friends in the theatre. Neither did she have to dread time’s encroachments. The place could hardly get any shabbier, and Freddie herself had fulfilled the one sure condition of being loved by the English nation, that is, she had been going on a very long time. She had done so much for Shakespeare, one institution, it seemed, befriending another. Her ruffianly behaviour had become ‘known eccentricities’. Like Buckingham Palace, Lyons teashops, the British Museum Reading Room, or the market at Covent Garden, she could never be allowed to disappear. While England rested true to itself, she need never compromise.

P. Fitzgerald, At Freddie’s (1982), 53

Not precisely disagreeable, it suggested a church vestry where old clothes hang and flowers moulder in the sink, but respect is called for just the same

Everyone who knew the Temple School will remember the distinctive smell of Freddie’s office. Not precisely disagreeable, it suggested a church vestry where old clothes hang and flowers moulder in the sink, but respect is called for just the same. It was not a place for seeing clearly. Light, in the morning, entered at an angle, through a quantity of dust. When the desk lamp was switched on at length the circle of light, although it repelled outsiders, was weak.

P. Fitzgerald, At Freddie’s (1982), 4

Homer, the father of Greek poetry, noted the excellent of the tripe prepared in honour of Achilles

The origins of tripe dressing are lost in the history of time. It has a known history of over 2,000 years, having been esteemed by both the Greeks and the Romans. Athenaeus praised it; Homer, the father of Greek poetry, noted the excellent of the tripe prepared in honour of Achilles; Thomas Muffet (in his Health's improvement, edited after his death by Christopher Bennett in 1655) declared that, 'the taste of Tripes did seem so delicate to the Romans, that they often killed oxen for the Tripe's sake.'

it was said that William the Conqueror enjoyed tripe accompanied by Neustrian apple juice. However it is unlikely that the cooks of the Middle Ages were adept in the preparation of tasty, well-seasoned dishes!

M. Houlihan, Tripe: a most excellent dish (1998. This ed. 2011), 20-21