He believed - of course he believed - that Renaissance man had been best embodied in the eighteenth-century English gentleman

He believed - of course he believed - that Renaissance man had been best embodied in the eighteenth-century English gentleman, and it was this figure, standing in his library, a book in one hand, the other resting on a piece of classical sculpture, gazing out over a landscape harmoniously ordered by himself and under his guidance his tenants, in the consciousness that from time to time he would be called upon to play a part in the government of his country or its defence, and that in due course his eldest son would take his place and stand at his library window and deal with his tenants and show his visitors the improvements  - it was this figure in Sur Randolph's mind accorded so ill with striking industrial workers, screaming suffragettes, Irish terrorists, scandals on the Stock Exchange, universal suffrage.  

I. Colegate, The shooting party (1980), 108-9

But for the nation itself there would only be a change of embezzlers and a change of the hunters and the hunted

There would be nothing different in that. That would only be a continuation of the Ghanaian way of life. But here was the real change. The individual man of power now shivering, his head filled with the fear of the vengeance of those he had wronged. For him everything was going to change. And for those like him who had grown greasy and fat singing the praises of their chief, for those who had been getting them- selves ready for the enjoyment of hoped-for favors, there would be long days of pain ahead. The flatterers with their new white Mercedes cars would have to fand ways of burying old words. For those who had come directly against the old power, there would be much happiness. But for the nation itself there would only be a change of embezzlers and a change of the hunters and the hunted. A pitiful shrinking of the world from those days Teacher still looked back to, when the single mind was filled with the hopes of a whole people. A pitiful shrinking, to days when all the powerful could think of was to use the power of a whole people to fill their own paunches. Endless days, same days, stretching into the future with no end anywhere in sight.

A. Kwei Armah, The beautyful ones are not yet born (1968), 162

I’m afraid I was always constitutionally incapable of bringing myself to the required pitch of enthusiasm

'Were you ever a communist, Bernhard?' I asked. 

At once — I saw it in his face — he was on the defensive. After a moment, he said slowly: 

'No, Christopher. I’m afraid I was always constitutionally incapable of bringing myself to the required pitch of enthusiasm.' 

I felt suddenly impatient with him; angry, even: 'ever to believe in anything?'

Bernhard smiled faintly at my violence. It may have amused him to have roused me like this.

'Perhaps. . .' Then he added, as if to himself: 'No that is not quite true. . . '

'What do you believe in, then?' I challenged. 

Bernhard was silent for some moments, considering this — his beaky delicate profile impassive, his eyes half -closed. At last he said: 'Possibly I believe in discipline.' 

'In discipline?'

'You don't understand that, Christopher? Let me try to explain ... I believe in discipline for myself, not necessarily for others. For others, I cannot judge. I know only that I myself must have certain standards which I obey and without which I am quite lost. . . . Does that sound very dreadful?'

C. Isherwood, Goodbye to Berlin (1939), 198-9

It is a very solemn undertaking to adore a millionaire

'I adore him,' Sally told me, repeatedly and very solemnly, whenever we were alone together. She was intensely earnest in believing this. It was like a dogma in a newly adopted religious creed; Sally adores Clive. It is a very solemn undertaking to adore a millionaire. Sally's features began to assume, with increasing frequency, the rapt expression of the theatrical nun. And indeed, when Clive, with his charming vague- ness, gave a particularly flagrant professional beggar a 47 twenty-mark note, we would exchange- glances of genuine awe. The waste of so much good money affected us both like something inspired, a kind of miracle.

C. Isherwood, Goodbye to Berlin (1939), 64

For country music, the coming of Elvis was a disaster

For country music, the coming of Elvis was a disaster. As the standard soundtrack for many Southern homes, country music bound generations together. That began to end with the coming of rock ‘n’ roll. At first, the music industry regarded artists such as Elvis, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Everly Brothers as country acts who happened to have special appeal for the kids. But as these artists increasingly dominated the Top 10 country charts, pushing out adult artists, country record promoters began to demand that the trade magazines get the young rock ‘n’ rollers off the country charts before they destroyed the essence of country music. By the end of the 1961, Elvis and the Everly Brothers were gone from the country charts.

M. Kosser, How Nashville became Music City USA (2006), 37

Choosing has become more of a problem than finding

It's easy to forget that there was once a time when books went out of print, films disappeared from cinemas & records got deleted. Stuff got forgotten. We're so used to everything being available all the time, any time, today. Choosing has become more of a problem than finding. But back in the early '80s this book was the only way for me to experience La Dolce Vita. I obviously wasn't getting the full picture - but it was better than nothing. I had made contact with another great work of art.

J. Cocker, Good pop, bad pop (2022), 265

At the age of five I understood that it was bad for us that mama was young and beautiful. It was dangerous.

I knew my mama was young and beautiful. Other children's mamas were older, but at the age of five I understood that it was bad for us that mama was young and beautiful. It was dangerous. I figured it out at the age of five ... I even understood that it was good that I was little. How could a child understand that? Nobody explained anything to me ...

S. Alexievich, tr. R. Pevear and L. Volkhonsky, Last Witnesses [Liuda Andreeva] (1985), 182