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Evelyn Waugh quotes about spring

English Author, Writer October 28, 1903 – April 10, 1966

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Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; a hill of many invisible crests; doors that open as in a dream to reveal only a further stretch of carpet and another door; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us. Evelyn Waugh
Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; vagabond-language scrawled on gate-posts and paving-stones along the weary road that others have tramped before us; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us. Evelyn Waugh
Old boy," said Grimes, "you're in love."Nonsense!"Smitten?" said Grimes."No, no."The tender passion?"No."Cupid's jolly little darts?"No."Spring fancies, love's young dream?"Nonsense!"Not even a quickening of the pulse?"No."A sweet despair?"Certainly not."A trembling hope?"No."A frisson? a Je ne sais quoi?"Nothing of the sort."Liar!" said Grimes. Evelyn Waugh
..perhaps all our lovers are merely hints and symbols; vagabond languages scrawled on gate-posts and paving stones along the weary road that others have trampled before us; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond each other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us. Evelyn Waugh
These memories are the memorials and pledges of the vital hours of a lifetime. These hours of afflatus in the human spirit, the springs of art, are, in their mystery, akin to the epochs of history, when a race which for centuries has lived content, unknown, behind its own frontiers, digging, eating, sleeping, begetting, doing what was requisite for survival and nothing else, will, for a generation or two, stupefy the world; commit all manner of crimes, perhaps; follow the wildest chimeras,... Evelyn Waugh

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