Quotes from Patrick Hamilton

The Law saith, Where is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction? The Gospel saith, Christ is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction.

Unto those who have, it shall, uncannily, be given.Unto those who have not, it shall, uncannily, be taken away.

Too much thought is bad for the soul, for art, and for crime. It is also a sign of middle age.

at any rate there is nothing in the world more dreary, damping, and obscurely perturbing than to come out of a cinema in the afternoon to a noisy world.

The Law saith, Where is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction? The Gospel saith, Christ is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction.

Your mind indeed is tired. Your mind so tired that it can no longer work at all. You do not think. You dream. Dream all day long. Dream everything. Dream maliciously and incessantly. Don't you know that by now?

London, the crouching monster, like every other monster has to breathe, and breathe it does in its own obscure, malignant way. Its vital oxygen is composed of suburban working men and women of all kinds, who every morning are sucked up through an infinitely complicated respiratory apparatus of trains and termini into the mighty congested lungs, held there for a number of hours, and then, in the evening, exhaled violently through the same channels.

Unto those who have,it shall,uncannily, be given.Unto those who have not,it shall,uncannily,be taken away.

Only at dawn should a man awake from excess - at dawn agleam with red and sorrowful resolve.

Though it had no wide reputation, all manner of people frequented 'The Midnight Bell.' This was in its nature, of course, since it is notorious that all manner of people frequent all manner of public-houses - which in this respect resemble railway stations and mad-houses.

Mr. Thwaites was, of course, a pronounced and leading Christmasist, being the instinctive leader of everything irritating and depressing, and the others followed him.

He had further narrowed his mind by a considerable amount of travel abroad, where he had again always made his way to the small hotels.

If he knew anything of her habits, she was certain to be somewhere about. He was not looking for her. He was submitting himself to the possibility of encounter.

And didst thou imbibe mighty potions from the fruit of the grape (...)? And hast thou one Ache, this morning (...) appertaining unto Head, and much repentance in thy Soul forsooth?

God help us, God help all of us, each one, every one, all of us'. Patrick Hamilton at the concusion of 'The Slaves of Solitude'.

Thus looked at from outside, these guests --in this dead-and-alive dining room, of this dead-and-alive house, of this dead-and-alive street, of this dead-and-alive little town--in grey, dead winter of the deadliest part of the most deadly war in history--thus seen from a detached point of view, they presented an extraordinary spectacle.

It was not so much what Vicki did that night: it was what she said. It was not so much her behaviour: it was her vocabulary!

He had been fooled. He had not, after all, had a great time: he had merely been drinking again.

There's only one thing that's any good with a certain type of woman, you know,' went on Eddie. 'Ask her for what you want, ask her whether she means to give it to you, and if she doesn't, throw her out of the window.

Those were the days when the three of them were smoking their first pipes, growing their first moustaches, having their first drunks and going with their first women, glorying in their release from meaningless discipline, in the prospect of earthly pleasures and an independent existence.

Wanting no other man save the one she could not get, any other man, the nearest at hand, served her purpose.

elderly guests were already setting about their business--the business, that is to say, of those who in fact had no business on this earth save that of cautiously steering their respective failing bodies along paths free from discomfort and illness in the direction of the final illness which would exterminate them.

Dawn, slowly filling Church Street with grey light, disclosed another day of war. Because it did this, this dawn bore no more resemblance to a peace-time dawn than the aspect of nature on a Sunday bears a resemblance to the aspect of nature on a weekday. Thus it seemed that dawn itself had been grimly harnessed to the war effort.

A goodly soup, i'troth, he said, and he Trothed at the chicken, and Trothed at the waiter, and Trothed at both the waitresses (even the one who was not serving at the table at which they were sitting), and Trothed at the cheese, and Trothed at the furnishing of the dining-room (which met with his approval), and Trothed and Trothed and Trothed.