Quotes from James Hilton

It's a very remarkable story." "Remarkable's a well-chosen word. It doesn't give you away.

As most real writers do, he wrote because he had something to say, not because of any specific ambition to be a writer.

For London, Blampied claimed, was of all cities in the world the most autumnal —its mellow brickwork harmonizing with fallen leaves and October sunsets, just as the etched grays of November composed themselves with the light and shade of Portland stone. There was a charm, a deathless charm, about a city whose inhabitants went about muttering, "The nights are drawing in," as if it were a spell to invoke the vast, sprawling creature-comfort of winter.

For Chips, like some old sea captain, still measured time by the signals of the past. . . .

Laziness in doing stupid things can be a great virtue...

Then the whole range, much nearer now, paled into fresh splendor; a full moon rose, touching each peak in succession like some celestial lamplighter, until the long horizon glittered against a blue-black sky.

His guests found it fun to watch him make tea -- mixing careful spoonfuls from different caddies.

Surely there comes a time when counting the cost and paying the price aren't things to think about any more. All that matters is value - the ultimate value of what one does.

There are times in life when the most comfortable thing is to do nothing at all. Things happen to you and you just let them happen.

You will have Time, that rare and lovely gift that your Western countries have lost the more they have pursued it.

And I believe that the Binomial Theorem and a Bach Fugue are, in the long run, more important than all the battles of history.

The exhaustion of the passions is the beginning of wisdom.

those ideas of dignity and generosity that were becoming increasingly rare in a frantic world.

My friend, it is not an arduous task that I bequeath, for our order knows only silken bonds. To be gentle and patient, to care for the riches of the mind, to preside in wisdom and secrecy while the storm rages without — it will all be very pleasantly simple for you, and you will doubtless find great happiness.

The will of God or the lunacy of man - it seemed to him that you could take your choice, if you wanted a good enough reason for most things. Or, alternatively (and he thought of it as he contemplated the small orderliness of the cabin against the window background of such frantic natural scenery), the will of man and the lunacy of God.

When you grow older you miss that eagerness; life may be happy, you may have health and wealth and love and success, but the odds are that you never look forward as you once did to a single golden day. You never count the hours to it, you never see some moment ahead beckoning like a goddess across a fourth dimension.

I thought I heard you—one of you—saying it was a pity—umph—a pity I never had—any children … eh? … But I have, you know … I have …" The others smiled without answering, and after a pause Chips began a faint and palpitating chuckle. "Yes—umph—I have," he added, with quavering merriment. "Thousands of 'em … thousands of 'em… and all boys.

You cannot judge the importance of things by the noise they make.

And so it stood, a warm and vivid patch in his life, casting a radiance that glowed in a thousand recollections.

He had, in fact, already begun to sink into that creeping dry rot of pedagogy which is the worst and ultimate pitfall of the profession; giving the same lessons year after year had formed a groove into which the other affairs of his life adjusted themselves with insidious ease. He worked well; he was conscientious; he was a fixture that gave service, satisfaction, confidence, everything except inspiration.

I shall be very deeply interested—in due course.

Conway said quietly, "If you'd had all the experiences I've had, you'd know that there are times in life when the most comfortable thing is to do nothing at all. Things happen to you and you just let them happen.

why had she found the story so absorbing? Of course it was quite possible she hadn't. Maybe she merely preferred a novel--any novel--to reading a newspaper or chatting with the girls she worked with all day. And maybe she always read like that--with an air of having surrendered totally to a spell.

Then, my son, when the strong have devoured each other, the Christian ethic may at last be fulfilled, and the meek shall inherit the earth.