H. Rider Haggard

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There are things and there are faces which, when felt or seen for the first time, stamp themselves upon the mind like a sun image on a sensitized plate and there remain unalterably fixed.

Sir Henry Rider Haggard (22 June 185614 May 1925), born in Bradenham, Norfolk, England, was a Victorian writer of adventure novels set in locations considered exotic by readers in his native England.

Sourced[edit]

We white people think that we know everything.
  • The food that memory gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the teeth of hope that we can bear to bite it.
    • She (1887), CHAPTER XVII, THE BALANCE TURNS
  • You lie; you always were a liar, and you always will be a liar.
    • Dawn (1884), CHAPTER I
  • The great wheel of Fate rolls on like a Juggernaut, and crushes us all in turn, some soon, some late
    • Allan Quatermain (1887), INTRODUCTION
  • There is no loneliness like the loneliness of crowds, especially to those who are unaccustomed to them.
    • A Tale of Three Lions (1887), CHAPTER I, THE INTEREST ON TEN SHILLINGS
  • There are things and there are faces which, when felt or seen for the first time, stamp themselves upon the mind like a sun image on a sensitized plate and there remain unalterably fixed.
    • Colonel Quaritch, V. C.: A Tale of Country Life (1888), CHAPTER I, HAROLD QUARITCH MEDITATES
  • For he was a merciful man, who loved not slaughter, although his fierce faith drove him from war to war.
    • The Brethren (1904), PROLOGUE
  • My death is very near to me, and of this I am glad, for I desire to pursue the quest in other realms, as it has been promised to me that I shall do.
    • Ayesha: The Return of She (1905), CHAPTER I, THE DOUBLE SIGN
  • We white people think that we know everything.
    • Child of Storm (1913), CHAPTER I, ALLAN QUATERMAIN HEARS OF MAMEENA
  • It is awkward to listen to oneself being praised, and I was always a shy man.
    • Allan and the Holy Flower (1915), CHAPTER I, BROTHER JOHN
  • I have never observed that the religious are more eager to die than the rest of us poor mortals.
    • The Ancient Allan (1920), CHAPTER I, OLD FRIEND

King Solomon's Mines (1885)[edit]

  • After spending a week in Cape Town, finding that they overcharged me at the hotel, and having seen everything there was to see, including the botanical gardens, which seem to me likely to confer a great benefit on the country, and the new Houses of Parliament, which I expect will do nothing of the sort, I determined to go back to Natal.
    • Chapter 1, "I Meet Sir Henry Curtis"
  • Listen! what is life? It is a feather, it is the seed of the grass, blown hither and thither, sometimes multiplying itself and dying in the act, sometimes carried away into the heavens. But if that seed be good and heavy it may perchance travel a little way on the road it wills. It is well to try and journey one’s road and to fight with the air. Man must die. At the worst he can but die a little sooner...
    Out of the dark we came, into the dark we go. Like a storm-driven bird at night we fly out of the Nowhere; for a moment our wings are seen in the light of the fire, and, lo! we are gone again into the Nowhere. Life is nothing. Life is all. It is the Hand with which we hold off Death. It is the glow-worm that shines in the night-time and is black in the morning; it is the white breath of the oxen in winter; it is the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself at sunset.
    • Chapter 5, "Our March into the Desert"
  • On, on we went, till at last the east began to blush like the cheek of a girl. Then there came faint rays of primrose light, that changed presently to golden bars, through which the dawn glided out across the desert. The stars grew pale and paler still, till at last they vanished; the golden moon waxed wan, and her mountain ridges stood out against her sickly face like the bones on the cheek of a dying man. Then came spear upon spear of light flashing far away across the boundless wilderness, piercing and firing the veils of mist, till the desert was draped in a tremulous golden glow, and it was day.
    • Chapter 5, "Our March into the Desert"
  • Everything has an end, if only you live long enough to see it.
    • Chapter 5, "Our March into the Desert"
  • I looked down the long lines of waving black plumes and stern faces beneath them, and sighed to think that within one short hour most, if not all, of those magnificent veteran warriors, not a man of whom was under forty years of age, would be laid dead or dying in the dust. It could not be otherwise; they were being condemned, with that wise recklessness of human life which marks the great general, and often saves his forces and attains his ends, to certain slaughter, in order to give their cause and the remainder of the army a chance of success. They were foredoomed to die, and they knew the truth. It was to be their task to engage regiment after regiment of Twala’s army on the narrow strip of green beneath us, till they were exterminated or till the wings found a favourable opportunity for their onslaught. And yet they never hesitated, nor could I detect a sign of fear upon the face of a single warrior. There they were—going to certain death, about to quit the blessed light of day for ever, and yet able to contemplate their doom without a tremor. Even at that moment I could not help contrasting their state of mind with my own, which was far from comfortable, and breathing a sigh of envy and admiration. Never before had I seen such an absolute devotion to the idea of duty, and such a complete indifference to its bitter fruits.
    • Chapter 14, "The Last Stand of the Greys"
  • Altogether, a more miserable trio than we were that evening it would have been difficult to discover; and our only comfort lay in the reflection that we were exceedingly fortunate to be there to feel miserable, instead of being stretched dead upon the plain, as so many thousands of brave men were that night, who had risen well and strong in the morning.
    • Chapter 15, "Good Falls Sick"
  • It is easier to destroy knowledge, Ignosi, than to gather it.
    • Chapter 15, "Good Falls Sick"
  • I am not a nervous man in a general way, and very little troubled with superstitions, of which I have lived to see the folly.
    • Chapter 16, "The Place of Death"
  • Then the irony of the situation forced itself upon me. There around us lay treasures enough to pay off a moderate national debt, or to build a fleet of ironclads, and yet we would have bartered them all gladly for the faintest chance of escape. Soon, doubtless, we should be rejoiced to exchange them for a bit of food or a cup of water, and, after that, even for the privilege of a speedy close to our sufferings. Truly wealth, which men spend their lives in acquiring, is a valueless thing at the last.
    • Chapter 18, "We Abandon Hope"

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