Джером Клапка Джером цитаты

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„Безделье, как и поцелуи, чтобы быть сладкими, должно быть украденным.“

„Руки доброй женщины, обвившиеся вокруг шеи мужчины, — это спасательный круг, брошенный ему судьбой с неба.“

„Мы заучили кучу гладких фраз о преступности войны и благодарим Бога за то, что живем в наше мирное торговое время и можем всю нашу мысль и энергию посвящать взаимному ограблению и надувательству.“

„Собака — очень необычное создание; она никогда не пристает с расспросами, какое у тебя настроение, ее не интересует, богат ты или беден, глуп или умен, грешник или святой. Ты ее друг. Ей этого достаточно.“

„Бедность не порок. Будь она пороком, её не стыдились бы.“

„Смех и вздох, поцелуй и прощание — вот и вся наша жизнь.“

„Философия не имеет никакого отношения к супружеской жизни. Здесь требуется быть полезным, а не выдающимся человеком. В браке мозг не учитывается; на него нет спроса, нет надлежащей оценки. Жены мерят нас на свой аршин, причем блеск ума совсем не принимается в расчет.“

„… до трёх месяцев все дети совершенно одинаковы. Пожалуй, вы отличите мальчика от девочки и белое христианское дитя от чернокожего язычника, но чтоб можно было ткнуть пальцем в голого младенца и сказать: это Смит, а это Джонс, — чепуха! Разденьте их, заверните в одеяло, и, бьюсь об какой хотите заклад, вы никогда в жизни не скажете, кто из них чей.“

„Я полагаю, что, если бы перенести на необитаемый остров двух женщин, они стали бы каждый день спорить о том, какие именно из морских раковин и птичьих яиц больше годятся для украшений, и каждый месяц придумывали бы новый фасон для фиговых листьев.“

„Мы делаем вид, что всякая женщина порядочна, что всякий мужчина честен — до тех пор, пока они не вынуждают нас, вопреки нашему желанию, обратить внимание на то, что это не так. Тогда мы очень на них сердимся и объясняем им, что такие грешники, как они, нам, людям безупречным, не компания.“

„… в возрасте одного года и семи месяцев он плакал, когда бабушка не позволяла ему кормить её с ложки, а в три с половиной года его полуживым выудили из пожарной бочки, куда он залез, чтобы научить лягушку плавать.“

„Честность — лучшая политика, если, конечно, вам не дарован талант убедительно лгать.“

„Мы пьём за здоровье друг друга и портим собственное здоровье.“

„Большинство из нас похожи на того петуха, который воображал, что солнце встаёт каждое утро единственно для того, чтобы послушать, как он поёт.“

„Русский человек — одно из самых очаровательных существ земного шара. Если он расположен к вам, он не поколеблется высказать вам это, и не только на деле, но и на словах, что, быть может, не менее полезно и необходимо в нашем старом и сером подлунном мире.“

„Чтобы на Земле царили мир и покой, количество мальчиков и девочек должно быть равным.“

„Когда яркое пламя любви перестаёт мерцать, веселее горит огонёк привязанности; его-то легко поддерживать изо дня в день и даже усиливать по мере того, как приближается холодная смерть.“

„Память подобна населённому нечистой силой дому, в стенах которого постоянно раздаётся эхо от невидимых шагов. В разбитых окнах мелькают тени умерших, а рядом с ними — печальные призраки нашего былого «я.»“

„Вы строите из себя дурака, Николас Снайдерс. Над вами все смеются.“

„Нет на свете собаки нежнее и ласковее бульдога. Но на вид этого не скажешь. Мягкость его нрава отнюдь не бросается в глаза случайному наблюдателю. Бульдог напоминает того джентльмена, о котором говорится в популярном стишке:
* Он парень что надо, но не с первого взгляда!
Сначала понять, раскусить его надо!“

„Когда он не играл в теннис, не тренировался, не читал про теннис, он говорил о теннисе. В те времена кумиром теннисистов был Реншоу, и <он> до такой степени надоел мне этим Реншоу, что в моей душе созрела преступное желание как-нибудь исподтишка убить Реншоу и предать его останки земле.“

„Тут не хватает ссылок первоисточники цитат.“

„Он парень что надо, но не с первого взгляда!
Сначала понять, раскусить его надо!“

„Дело в том, что когда вы еще очень, очень молоды, вам кажется, что лето состоит из одних только солнечных дней и лунных ночей, что ветер не бывает пронизывающим и дует всегда с запада, а розы согласны цвести где угодно. Но с годами устаешь дожидаться, когда сквозь тучи прорежется луч солнца. А потому закрываешь двери, заходишь в дом и, притулившись у огня, гадаешь, почему ветер вечно дует с востока и почему ты давно бросил попытки вырастить розы.“

“A man rarely carries his shyness past the hobbledehoy period. Even if his own inward strength does not throw it off, the rubbings of the world generally smooth it down.”

“And fighting the battle of life is fighting against fearful odds, too. There are giants and dragons in this nineteenth century, and the golden casket that they guard is not so easy to win as it appears in the story-books.”

“All is vanity and everybody's vain. Women are terribly vain. So are men — more so, if possible.”

“A woman never thoroughly cares for her lover until he has ceased to care for her; and it is not until you have snapped your fingers in Fortune's face and turned on your heel that she begins to smile upon you.”

“Too much of anything is a mistake, as the man said when his wife presented him with four new healthy children in one day. We should practice moderation in all matters.”

“There are two kinds of clocks. There is the clock that is always wrong, and that knows it is wrong, and glories in it; and there is the clock that is always right — except when you rely upon it, and then it is more wrong than you would think a clock could be in a civilized country.”

“There are the goods; if you want them, you can have them. If you do not want them, they would almost rather that you did not come and talk about them.”

“I can understand the ignorant masses loving to soak themselves in drink—oh, yes, it's very shocking that they should, of course—very shocking to us who live in cozy homes, with all the graces and pleasures of life around us, that the dwellers in damp cellars and windy attics should creep from their dens of misery into the warmth and glare of the public-house bar, and seek to float for a brief space away from their dull world upon a Lethe stream of gin. But think, before you hold up your hands in horror at their ill-living, what "life" for these wretched creatures really means. Picture the squalid misery of their brutish existence, dragged on from year to year in the narrow, noisome room where, huddled like vermin in sewers, they welter, and sicken, and sleep; where dirt-grimed children scream and fight and sluttish, shrill-voiced women cuff, and curse, and nag; where the street outside teems with roaring filth and the house around is a bedlam of riot and stench. Think what a sapless stick this fair flower of life must be to them, devoid of mind and soul. The horse in his stall scents the sweet hay and munches the ripe corn contentedly. The watch-dog in his kennel blinks at the grateful sun, dreams of a glorious chase over the dewy fields, and wakes with a yelp of gladness to greet a caressing hand. But the clod-like life of these human logs never knows one ray of light. From the hour when they crawl from their comfortless bed to the hour when they lounge back into it again they never live one moment of real life. Recreation, amusement, companionship, they know not the meaning of. Joy, sorrow, laughter, tears, love, friendship, longing, despair, are idle words to them. From the day when their baby eyes first look out upon their sordid world to the day when, with an oath, they close them forever and their bones are shoveled out of sight, they never warm to one touch of human sympathy, never thrill to a single thought, never start to a single hope. In the name of the God of mercy; let them pour the maddening liquor down their throats and feel for one brief moment that they live!”

“It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions.”

“Love is too pure a light to burn long among the noisome gases that we breathe, but before it is choked out we may use it as a torch to ignite the cozy fire of affection.”

“If you would taste love, drink of the pure stream that youth pours out at your feet. Do not wait till it has become a muddy river before you stoop to catch its waves.”

“Nothing—so it seems to me…is more beautiful than the love that has weathered the storms of life. … The love of the young for the young, that is the beginning of life. But the love of the old for the old, that is the beginning of—of things longer.”

“I want a house that has got over all its troubles; I don't want to spend the rest of my life bringing up a young and inexperienced house.”

“What between tipping the man who had brought us home, and paying for the broken sculls, and for having been out four hours and a half, it cost us a pretty considerable number of weeks’ pocket-money, that sail. But we learned experience, and they say that is always cheap at any price.”

“Contented, unambitious people are all very well in their way. They form a neat, useful background for great portraits to be painted against, and they make a respectable, if not particularly intelligent, audience for the active spirits of the age to play before. I have not a word to say against contented people so long as they keep quiet.”

“I attribute the quarrelsome nature of the Middle Ages young men entirely to the want of the soothing weed.”

“It always is wretched weather according to us. The weather is like the government — always in the wrong. In summer-time we say it is stifling; in winter that it is killing; in spring and autumn we find fault with it for being neither one thing nor the other and wish it would make up its mind…We shall never be content until each man makes his own weather and keeps it to himself.”

“Tears are as sweet as laughter to some natures.”

“Conceit is the finest armor that a man can wear. Upon its smooth, impenetrable surface the puny dagger-thrusts of spite and envy glance harmlessly aside. Without that breast-plate the sword of talent cannot force its way through the battle of life, for blows have to be borne as well as dealt.”

“There have been a good many funny things said and written about hardupishness, but the reality is not funny, for all that. It is not funny to have to haggle over pennies. It isn't funny to be thought mean and stingy. It isn't funny to be shabby and to be ashamed of your address. No, there is nothing at all funny in poverty — to the poor.”

“No, there is nothing at all funny in poverty—to the poor. It is hell upon earth to a sensitive man; and many a brave gentleman who would have faced the labors of Hercules has had his heart broken by its petty miseries.”

“They say — people who ought to be ashamed of themselves do — that the consciousness of being well dressed imparts a blissfulness to the human heart that religion is powerless to bestow. I am afraid these cynical persons are sometimes correct.”

“But if we look a little deeper we shall find there is a pathetic, one might almost say a tragic, side to the picture. A shy man means a lonely man—a man cut off from all companionship, all sociability. He moves about the world, but does not mix with it. Between him and his fellow-men there runs ever an impassable barrier—a strong, invisible wall that, trying in vain to scale, he but bruises himself against. He sees the pleasant faces and hears the pleasant voices on the other side, but he cannot stretch his hand across to grasp another hand. He stands watching the merry groups, and he longs to speak and to claim kindred with them. But they pass him by, chatting gayly to one another, and he cannot stay them. He tries to reach them, but his prison walls move with him and hem him in on every side. In the busy street, in the crowded room, in the grind of work, in the whirl of pleasure, amid the many or amid the few—wherever men congregate together, wherever the music of human speech is heard and human thought is flashed from human eyes, there, shunned and solitary, the shy man, like a leper, stands apart. His soul is full of love and longing, but the world knows it not. The iron mask of shyness is riveted before his face, and the man beneath is never seen. Genial words and hearty greetings are ever rising to his lips, but they die away in unheard whispers behind the steel clamps. His heart aches for the weary brother, but his sympathy is dumb. Contempt and indignation against wrong choke up his throat, and finding no safety-valve whence in passionate utterance they may burst forth, they only turn in again and harm him. All the hate and scorn and love of a deep nature such as the shy man is ever cursed by fester and corrupt within, instead of spending themselves abroad, and sour him into a misanthrope and cynic.”

“Contented, unambitious people are all very well in their way. They form a neat, useful background for great portraits to be painted against, and they make a respectable, if not particularly intelligent, audience for the active spirits of the age to play before.”

“But by that time you do not much care whether she smiles or frowns. Why could she not have smiled when her smiles would have filled you with ecstasy? Everything comes too late in this world.”

“How you would watch her, spaniel-like, to anticipate her slightest wish! How proud you were to do her bidding! How delightful it was to be ordered about by her! To devote your whole life to her and to never think of yourself seemed such a simple thing. You would go without a holiday to lay a humble offering at her shrine, and felt more than repaid if she only deigned to accept it.”