Quotes from D.E. Stevenson

ealth you can do anything you set your mind

She had begun to realise that these people used the English language in a way of their own. They did not ask a question in a straightforward manner but merely made an observation with a questioning inflection in their voices; they never answered a question with a plain yes or no but preferred to answer it with another question.

It was neither the injustice nor the ill-treatment that changed me, it was a deeper and more important factor, Franz. There were young guards at the camp, boys even younger than yourself, who had been taken from school and trained to be cruel to the prisoners in their charge. That is the most dreadful thing.

but the moment one started home one was filled with impatience. Amberwell pulled like a magnet; the nearer one approached the harder it pulled.

It was because she was too yielding, too frightened of unpleasant scenes, that she had allowed herself to be dominated and repressed.

It was when General Franco was marching on Madrid," said Tommy. "Somebody asked him how many troops he had, and he replied that he had four columns with him and a fifth column in Madrid itself. Now, of course, the term fifth column has passed into everyday use and is taken to mean—well, to mean traitors, really, but that wasn't General Franco's meaning

He pulled himself together to answer her question. "Life is awfully complicated now," he said, trying to express his thoughts; "you have got to conform to laws that your instinct tells you are false laws—it makes me angry sometimes.

I switch on the light beside my bed and the old, beautiful room takes shape – the four-poster with its carved oak pillars, the dark oak chest, the dressing table with its prude petticoat of spotted muslin, the low, uneven ceiling, the wavy oak floor. How many hundreds and thousands of people have awakened in this room; awakened to their sorrows and their joys, their hopes and their fears?

I switch on the light beside my bed and the old, beautiful room takes shape – the four-poster with its carved oak pillars, the dark oak chest, the dressing table with its prude petticoat of spotted muslin, the low, uneven ceiling, the wavy oak floor. How many hundreds and thousands of people have awakened in this room; awakened to their sorrows and their joys, their hopes and their fears? Strange that I should have slept so well, untroubled by the haunting of their thoughts!

Yes, it is. Some people would find it frightfully dull to be the daughter of the parson at Chevis Green." "But we don't," cried Liz. "That's exactly what I mean. It's in you from the beginning. Either there's this mysterious thing in you that makes you happy—that makes you interested in everything and interesting to yourself—or else there isn't, and you're dull and dreary and discontented.

The story covers less than a year in the life of a family, and during this comparatively short period many things happen, some serious and important, others cheerful and gay. It is summertime—a summer during the greatest and most terrible of wars—but the author felt disinclined to bring such a grave and desperate matter into a lighthearted tale; here, then, are to be found only the lighter side and the small inconveniences of Total War; the larger issues are ignored.

He began to realise that it was not Hitler but Hitlerism which must be rooted out before Germany could become whole and sane and able to take her rightful place amongst the great nations of the world. "It seems hopeless," said Franz at last in a sombre tone.

Nitkin brought the horses round at a few minutes before ten and I went out to have a word with him and to explain that Simon was not an experienced rider. 'That's all right,' said Nitkin. 'I'll look after Mr. Simon. Don't you worry, madam.' I was not really worrying; I trusted Nitkin. As a matter of fact he was the only person at Limbourne that I trusted.

When it became too wet and cold for out-door expeditions we went to a picture-house together, and sometimes on a Saturday evening we went to the theatre and saw a play. I realised that all these expeditions were planned for my benefit but there was no doubt Uncle Matt enjoyed them as much as I did. He had a natural capacity for enjoyment, he was full of energy and there was a boyishness about him which made him an excellent companion.

He will be no trouble in the house," declared Mr. Grace with his usual optimism. "How do you know?" inquired Liz. "I mean if you scarcely know the man, you can't possibly know his habits.

She brought in his dinner and stood looking at him while he helped himself—what was he but a bairn? Morag thought; all men were just big bairns, helpless and simple and easily pleased and—but this was not so fortunate—easily put out about small matters.

Mr. Pickwick, she thought, and Weller—yes, Sam Weller, that was his name—and the long lanky Mr. Winkle who fought in the duel. It's all exactly like that, she thought (trying to catch the aroma of the book, the bird's-eye view which we reproduce when we try to remember something read long ago and build up from an incident or a character in the story). It's all exactly like the background of Pickwick Papers.

Already she was determined that the house she was going to look at was the right house. Wandlebury was the place she had been looking for—she knew it in her bones.

War is horrible," I said, trying to damp her down. "If you had lived through the war you wouldn't think it glorious. War is just agony. It's living under a dark cloud all the time and wondering if someone you love has been killed.

Am I an infant in arms?" demanded Iain. "Och, well—I wouldn't go so far—but a woman from the village— Och, no, that would not do at all—and me promised to Miss Walker on the Holy Name to see to MacAslan myself—" "Janet had no business to ask you," Iain told her. He was beginning to feel quite angry. It was all very well for people to be fond of you, but these women were smothering him with their solicitude.

You're a success because you've done what you meant to do. You're a success by your own standard and it's your own standard that matters.

I'll gie ye tae the lions for their denners." This threat has no effect upon the imps at all—for they are inured to empty threats—but its effect upon Betty is remarkable. She seizes my hand and cries in accents of dismay, "Oh Mummy, don't let her—don't let her, Mummy!" It takes several minutes to convince Betty that the children's mother has no intention of feeding her offspring to the lions.

She needn't worry about sharks—or Japs," declared Sal. "As a matter of fact— " "That's what I tell 'er, Miss Sal. Don't you worry, I said. If Bob's going to be bitten by a shark, 'e'll be bitten an' no amount of worrying will 'elp 'im." "I don't think there are any sharks in Shetland.

Mrs. Falconer smiles vaguely and repeats her conviction that it is all most intriguing, adding, that if she had a son, she would insist on his going into the navy just like dear Elspeth. Whereupon 'dear Elspeth' replies, uncompromisingly, that she did everything she could to prevent Guthrie from going into the navy, short of locking him in the tool shed.