C.S. Forester Quotes

A man who writes for a living does not have to go anywhere in particular, and he could rarely afford to if he wanted.

Perhaps that suspicion of fraud enhances the flavor.

When a man who is drinking neat gin starts talking about his mother he is past all argument.

Everything was in stark and dreadful contrast with the trivial crises and counterfeit emotions of Hollywood, and I returned to England deeply moved and emotionally worn out.

I formed a resolution to never write a word I did not want to write; to think only of my own tastes and ideals, without a thought of those of editors or publishers.

Happy is the bride the sun shines on.

I'd rather be in trouble for having done something than for not having done anything.

With two people and luggage on board she draws four inches of water. Two canoe paddles will move her along at a speed reasonable enough in moderate currents.

Hornblower bowed to Lady This and Lady That, to Lord Somebody and to Sir John Somebody-else. Bold eyes and bare arms, exquisite clothes and blue Garter-ribbons, were all the impressions Hornblower received.

If one plan goes wrong there is need to make another, that is all. And, as for despair - there was no room for despair in Dodd's make-up. The regiment had taught him that he must do his duty or die in the attempt; a simple enough religion fit for his simple mind. As long as there was breath in his body or a thought in his mind he must struggle on; as long as he went on trying there was no need to meditate on success or failure. The only reward for the doing of his duty would be the knowledge that his duty was being done.

There is still need to think and plan, but on a different scale, and along different lines.

Bush put both arms round Hornblower's shoulders and walked with dragging feet. It did not matter that his feet dragged and his legs would not function while he had this support; Hornblower was the best man in the world and Bush could announce it by singing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' while lurching along the alleyway.

There is no other way of writing a novel than to begin at the beginning at to continue to the end.

It was not a conspiratorial wink, nor did Hornblower attempt the hopeless task of trying to pretend he stuffed hot greasy sausages into his pockets every day of his life; the wink simply dared the old gentleman to comment on or even think of the remarkable act.

Hornblower worked as hard to conceal his human weaknesses as some men worked to conceal ignoble birth.

Irresponsibility was something which, in the very nature of things, could not co-exist with independence.

They managed to find time ... to tell me that there was no chance of my being accepted for service and that really I should be surprised to still be alive.

The doctor who applied a stethoscope to my heart was not satisfied. I was told to get my papers with the clerk in the outer hall. I was medically rejected.

I have heard of novels started in the middle, at the end, written in patches to be joined together later, but I have never felt the slightest desire to do this.

The lucky man is he who knows how much to leave to chance.

The material came bubbling up inside like a geyser or an oil gusher. It streamed up of its own accord, down my arm and out of my fountain pen in a torrent of six thousand words a day.

The stinks of the true believers have to be smelt to be believed.

His self-respect was at its lowest ebb.

Harm began to come to Hornblower from that day forth, despite his obedience to orders and diligent study of his duties, and it stemmed from the arrival in the midshipmen's berth of John Simpson as senior warrant officer.

I thank God daily for the good fortune of my birth, for I am certain I would have made a miserable peasant.