Quotes from Alan Paton

Then he gave himself over to deep and earnest prayer, and after each petition he raised his eyes and looked to the east. And the east lightened and lightened, till he knew that the time was not far off. And when he expected it, he rose to his feet and took off his hat and laid it down on the earth, and clasped his hands before him. And while he stood there the sun rose in the east.

And he was silent again, for who is not silent when someone is dead, who was a small bright boy?

I cannot stop you from thinking your thoughts. It is good that a young man has such deep thoughts. But hate no man, and desire power over no man.

Tomorrow they would all go home, all except his son. And he would stay in the place where they would put him, in the great prison in Pretoria, in the barred and solitary cell; and mercy failing, would stay there till he was hanged. Aye, but the hand that had murdered had once pressed the mother's breast into the thirsting mouth, had stolen into the father's hand when they went out into the dark. Aye, but the murderer afraid of death had once been a child afraid of the night.

It is true that the victim was a black man, and there is a school of thought which would regard such an offence as less serious when the victim is black.

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved. Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end. The sun pours down on the earth, on the lovely land that man cannot enjoy. He knows only the fear of his heart.

When the storm threatens, a man is afraid for his house. But when the house is destroyed, there is something to do. About a storm he can do nothing, but he can rebuild a house.

His eyes fill with tears, his deep gentleness returns to him. He goes to her and lifts her from the floor to the chair. Inarticulately he strokes her face, his heart filled with pity.–God forgives us, he says. Who am I not to forgive? Let us pray.

I am not kind. I am a selfish and sinful man, but God put his hands on me, that is all.

I say we shall always have native crime to fear until the native people of this country have worthy purposes to inspire them and worthy goals to work for. For it is only because they see neither purpose nor goal that they turn to drink and crime and prostitution.

Down in the valleys women scratch the soil that is left, and the maize hardly reaches the height if a man. They are valleys of old men and old women, of mothers and children. The men are away, the young men and the girls are away, the soil cannot keep them any more.

For we fear not only the loss of our possessions, but the loss of our superiority and the loss of our whiteness. Some say it is true that crime is bad, but would this not be worse? Is it not better to hold what we have, and to pay the price of it with fear?

The fierce old man struck the arm of his chair and said, I would shoot him like a dog. Then because no one spoke, he said to the captain, wouldn't you? And the captain said, No. —You wouldn't? —No. —But he has offended against the race. Then the captain said trembling, Meneer, as a policeman I know an offence against the law, and as a Christian I know an offence against God; but I do not know an offence against the race.

He had come to tell his brother that power corrupts, that a man who fights for justice must himself be cleansed and purified, that love is greater than force. And none of these things had he done. God have mercy on me, Christ have mercy on me. He turned to the door, but it was locked and bolted. Brother had shut out brother, from the same womb had they come.

When I go up there, which is my intention, the Big Judge will say to me, "Where are your wounds?" and if I say I haven't any, he will say, "Was there nothing to fight for?" I couldn't face that question.

because life slips away, and because I need for the rest of my journey a star that will not play false to me, a compass that will not lie.

It is not permissible for us to go on destroying the family life when we know that we are destroying it.

Ask yourself not if this or that is expedient, but if it is right.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply... For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

It is my belief that the only power which can resist the power of fear is the power of love.

Who knows for what we live, and struggle, and die? Wise men write many books, in words too hard to understand. But this, the purpose of our lives, the end of all our struggle, is beyond all human wisdom.

There is only one thing that has power completely, and that is love.

If you wrote a novel in South Africa which didn't concern the central issues, it wouldn't be worth publishing.

The truth is, our civilization is not Christian; it is a tragic compound of great ideal and fearful practice, of loving charity and fearful clutching of possessions.