Quotes About Beerbohm

To give an accurate and exhaustive account of that period would need a far less brilliant pen than mine.

A whipper-snapper of criticism who quoted dead languages to hide his ignorance of life.

Sensitive reader, start not at the apparition! Oxford is a plexus of anomalies.

Echoes of his boots fell from the upper stairs and met the ascending susurrus of a silk skirt.

Despite her dress, which was of a tremendous tartan, she diffused the pale authentic radiance of a spirituality most high, most simple.

He despised himself for wishing to forget she despised him.

such an air of sullen mourning as it had not worn since the Prussians marched to its Elysee.

Perhaps, had Byron not been a dandy—but ah, had he not been in his soul a dandy there would have been no Byron worth mentioning.

Men of thought, agile on the plane of ideas, devils of fellows among books, they groped feebly in this matter of actual life and death.

Peerless, he was irresponsible—the captain of his soul, the despot of his future.

The critic who justly admires all kinds of things simultaneously cannot love any one of them.

The gods bestowed on Max [Beerbohm] the gift of perpetual old age.

Because I was a pedant. I tried to ignore you, as pedants always do try to ignore any fact they cannot fit into their pet system.