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I'm sick of the form—slices of life served up cold in three hundred pages. Oh, it's very nice; it makes nice reading for people. But what's the use? Except, of course, to kill time for those who prefer it dead. But as things in themselves, as art, they've been ruined by excess.

— Rose Macaulay Potterism (1921)

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More quotes by Rose Macaulay

"Take my camel, dear," said my aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass.

The Towers of Trebizond (1956)

Each wrong act brings with it its own anaesthetic, dulling the conscience and blinding it against further light, and sometimes for years.

The trouble about the fashions is, there are too many going on at once, and you can't follow them all. Sometimes, I think I will give them all up, and just be dowdy.

Personal Pleasures (1935)

How fast and how loud foreigners talk ! It is a gift ; the British cannot talk so loud or so fast. They have too many centuries of fog in their throats.

Personal Pleasures (1935)

To the politician we are something of a dark horse. He does not know what we want; he wishes he did. Do we know ourselves? Vaguely we know that we don't want the politician.

A Casual Commentary (1925)

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Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Rose Macaulay (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.