Share this page: He who meanly admires mean things is a Snob. -- The Book of Snobs (1848) This I set down as a positive truth. A woman with fair opportunities, and without a positive hump, may marry whom she likes. -- Vanity Fair (1847-48) Some cynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties to a love-transaction: the one who loves and the other who condescends to be so treated. -- Vanity Fair (1847-48) Darkness came down on the field and city: and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, with a bullet through his heart. -- Vanity Fair (1847-48) I think I could be a good woman if I had five thousand a year. -- Vanity Fair (1847-48) When you think that the eyes of your childhood dried at the sight of a piece of gingerbread, and that a plum-ckae was a compensation for the agony of parting with your mamma and sisters; O my friend and brother, you need not be too confident of your own fine feelings. -- Vanity Fair (1847-48) Ah! Vanitas vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied? — Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out. -- Vanity Fair (1847-48) Tis not the dying for a faith that's so hard, Master Harry — everyman of every nation has done that — 'tis the living up to it that is difficult, as I know to my cost. -- The History of Henry Esmond (1852) 'Tis strange what a man may do, and a woman yet think him an angel. -- The History of Henry Esmond (1852) There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen to write. -- The History of Henry Esmond (1852) The leopard follows his nature as the lamb does, and acts after leopard law; she can neither help her beauty, nor her courage, nor her cruelty; nor a single spot on her shining coat; nor the conquering spirit which impels her; nor the shot which brings her down. -- The History of Henry Esmond (1852) Quotes about Thackeray Thackeray is everybody's past — is everybody's youth. Forgotten friends flit about the passages of dreamy colleges and unremembered clubs; we hear fragments of unfinished conversations, we see faces without names for an instant, fixed forever in some trivial grimace: we smell the strong smell of social cliques now quite incongruous to us; and there stir in all the little rooms at once the hundred ghosts of oneself. -- G. K. Chesterton, The Victorian Age in Literature (1913) Share this page:

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