Hilaire Belloc

When I am dead, I hope it may be said: His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.

The llama is a woolly sort of fleecy hairy goat With an indolent expression and an undulating throat - Like an unsuccessful literary man.

Just as there is nothing between the admirable omelette and the intolerable so with autobiography.

When I am dead I hope it may be said: 'His sins were scarlet but his books were read.'

Write as the wind blows and command all words like an army!

It is the best of all trades to make songs and the second best to sing them.

Physicians of the Utmost Fame were called at once but when they came they answered as they took their fees 'There is no cure for this disease.'

The llama is a woolly sort of fleecy hairy goat with an indolent expression and an undulating throat like an unsuccessful literary man.

Oh! Let us never never doubt What nobody is sure about.

When I am dead, I hope it may be said, 'His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.

There's nothing worth the wear of winning but laughter and the love of friends.

We sit by and watch the barbarian. We tolerate him in the long stretches of peace we are not afraid. We are tickled by his irreverence his comic inversion of our old certitudes and our fixed creed refreshes us we laugh. But as we laugh we are watched by large and awful faces from beyond and on these faces there are no smiles.

A microbe is so very small You cannot make him out at all.

He [the poet] brings out the inner part of things and presents them to men in such a way that they cannot refuse but must accept it. But how the mere choice and rhythm of words should produce so magical an effect no one has yet been able to comprehend, and least of all the poets themselves.

The control of the production of wealth is the control of human life itself.

From quiet homes and first beginning,Out to the undiscovered ends,There's nothing worth the wear of winning,But laughter and the love of friends.

There was a shepherd the other day up at Findon Fair who had come from the east by Lewes with sheep, and who had in his eyes that reminiscence of horizons which makes the eyes of shepherds and of mountaineers different from the eyes of other men.

In the perfect Capitalist State there would be no food available for the non-owner save when he was actually engaged in Production, and that absurdity would, by quickly ending all human lives save those of the owners, put a term to the arrangement.