Quotes from Radclyffe Hall

Stephen, why are you shivering?' 'I don't know, my darling.' 'Mary, why are you crying?' 'I don't know, Stephen.' p424

Oh, yes -- very easy to talk about death, but not so easy to manage the dying.

To her it seemed an inevitable thing as much a part of herself as her breathing; and yet it appeared transcendent of self, and she looked up and onwards towards her love--for the eyes of the young are drawn to the stars and the spirit of youth is seldom earth-bound." p146

But her eyes would look cold, though her voice might be gentle, and her hand when it fondled would be tentative, unwilling. The hand would be making an effort to fondle, and Stephen would be conscious of that effort. Then looking up at the calm, lovely face, Stephen would be filled with a sudden contrition, with a sudden deep sense of her own shortcomings; she would long to blurt all this out to her mother, yet would stand there tongue-tied, saying nothing at all.

But even as she struck the bonds seemed to tighten, with each fresh blow to bind more securely. Mary now clung with every fibre of her sorely distressed and outraged being; with every memory that Stephen stirred; with every passion that Stephen had fostered; with every instinct of loyalty that Stephen had aroused to do battle with Martin.

So now Stephen must actually learn at first hand hwo straight can run the path of true love, in direct contradiction to the time-honoured proverb. Must realize more clearly than ever, that love is only permissible to those who are cut in every respect to life's pattern.

My dear, don't be foolish, there's nothing strange about you, someday you may meet a man you can love. And supposing you don't, well, what of it, Stephen? Marriage isn't the only career for a woman.

For your own sake you must go to Oxford, you'll need every weapon your brain can give you; being what you are you'll need every weapon.

she had not yet learnt that the loneliest place in this world is the no-man's-land of sex.

Do you believe in God, Martin?' And he answered, 'Yes, because of His trees. Don't you?' 'I'm not sure...' 'Oh, my poor, blind Stephen! Look again, go on looking until you do believe.

A few dauntless souls even enter the chemist's -- that shamelessly anatomical chemist's, whose wares do not figure in school manuals on the practical uses of rubber.

What could she do, bound as she was by the tyranny of silence? She dared not explain the girl to herself...that wilfully selfish tyranny of silence evolved by a crafty old ostrich of a world for its own well-being and comfort. The world hid its head in the sands of convention, so that seeing nothing it might avoid Truth...if silence is golden it is also in this case, very expedient.

Writing, it was like a heavenly balm, it was like the flowing out of deep waters, it was like the lifting of a load from the spirit; it brought with it a sense of relief, of assuagement.

Susan glanced down and smiled. 'Go away, Sieglinde,' she said, giving her a push. It's food, not me, you fraud!' Sieglinde regained her balance with the dexterity of a tight-rope walker. She sighed and whinnied under her breath continuously, while her paws took a firmer grip of Susan's knee.

She loved deeply, far more deeply than many a one who could fearlessly proclaim himself a lover. Since this is a hard and sad truth for the telling; those whom nature has sacrificed to her ends--her mysterious ends that often lie hidden--are sometimes endowed with a vast will to loving, with an endless capacity for suffering also, which must go hand in hand with their love.

But do try to remember this: even the world's not so black as it's painted.

Darling- I wonder if you realize how much I am counting on your coming to England, how much it means to me- it means all the world, and indeed my body shall be all, all yours, as yours will be all, all mine, beloved.... And nothing will matter but just we two, we two longing loves at last come together.

Strange it is, but unforgettable moments are often connected with very small happenings, happenings that assume fictitious proportions, especially

Man could not live by darkness alone, one point of light he must have for salvation – one point of light. The most perfect Being of all had cried for light in His darkness – even He, the most perfect Being of all.

The sorrows of childhood are mercifully passing, for it is only when maturity has rendered soil mellow that grief will root very deeply. Stephen's

The eyes themselves were the eyes of a writer, always a little tired in expression.

Life had already taught Stephen one thing, and that was that never must human beings be allowed to suspect that a creature fears them. The fear of the one is a spur to the many, for the primitive hunting instinct dies hard -- it is better to face a hostile world than to turn one's back for a moment.

What remained? Loneliness, or worse still, far worse because it so deeply degraded the spirit, a life of perpetual subterfuge, of guarded opinions and guarded actions, of lies of omission if not of speech, of becoming an accomplice in the world's injustice by maintaining at all times a judicious silence, making and keeping the friends one respected, on false pretences, because if they knew they would turn aside, even the friends one respected.

There is something mankind can never destroy in spite of an unreasoning will to destruction, and this is its own idealism, that integral part of its very being.