Showing posts with label die. Show all posts
Showing posts with label die. Show all posts

Monday, 6 August 2012

Over the wall



They’d been my associates in a botched attempt to rescue Max on the eve of his execution. We’d failed because (you’ll hardly credit this) the great clown had refused point-blank to escape because it didn’t sort with his imperial dignity, Austro-Hungarian royalty preferring to die than go over the wall.


Flashman on the March, p.5, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Crimson with booze



Even in the South they respected him for his courage; I remember the verdict, delivered to me by a grizzled Alabama veteran, crimson with booze and chewing on his Wheeling tobey:* “Ole Ossawatomie? Well, now, suh, Ah reckon he lived like a skunk — an’ died like a lion.”

* A particularly pungent cigar.

 
Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.348, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Ever noticed



“I killed four myself,” says he solemnly, “and I tell ye Flashy, they died hard! They did that.” He paused, frowning. “ Have you ever noticed . . . how soft a man’s head is?”


Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.242, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.


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Tuesday, 6 July 2010

Stretched my legs



There are moments in life which defy description…. The last minute at Balaclava, the moment the Welsh broke at Little Hand Rock and the Zulus came bounding over our position, the breaching of Piper’s fort gate, the neck-or-nothing race for Reno’s Bluff with the Sioux braves running among the shattered rabble of Custer’s Seventh – I’ve stretched my legs in all of those, knowing I was going to die, and being damned noisy at the prospect.



Flashman's Lady, p.185, Pan edition, 1979.

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Thursday, 15 April 2010

That ain’t how people die



As I scrambled up I saw she was writhing in the dust; her scarf and helmet were gone, she was kicking and clawing at her body, and her face was twisted and working in agony, with her hair half across it. It was hideous, and I could only crouch there, gazing horrified. Oh, if it were a novel I could tell you that I ran to her, and cradled her head against me and kissed her, while she looked up at me with a serene smile and murmured something before she closed her eyes, as lovely in death as she’d been in life – but that ain’t how people die, not even the Rani of Jhansi. She arched up once more, still tearing at herself, and then she flopped over, face down, and I knew she was a goner.



Flashman in the Great Game, pp.315-6, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Sunday, 8 June 2008

Die like Englishmen

‘Well,’ says he, ‘we can make a bloody good fight of it. We can die like Englishmen, ’stead of like dogs.
‘What difference does it make whether you die like an Englishman or like a bloody Eskimo?’ says I, and he just stared at me and then went on chafing my arms.



Flashman, p.219, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.




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Tuesday, 13 May 2008

The field of honour

'…don’t wait to die on the field of honour.’ He said it without a sneer. ‘Heroes draw no higher wages than the others, boy. Sleep well.’



Flashman, p.83, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.



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Thursday, 26 April 2007

Marry or die

Marry or die - that was what it amounted to, for I'd no doubt he would be damnably efficent with the barkers.




Flashman, p.62, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.

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