Showing posts with label flee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flee. Show all posts

Monday, 21 January 2013

Never to be seen again



Word came just then that Masteeat was expected hourly, and Warkite was off like a rising grouse, never to be seen again.



Flashman on the March, p.282, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Tuesday, 8 January 2013

Flashman and the avoidance of Powerpoint



. . . I tried to run, my wounded leg gave way beneath me, and I went head-first into a large rock by the wayside and lost all interest in the proceedings.



Flashman on the March, p.265, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Monday, 17 December 2012

A fleeing Flashy



Ask any man who’s been hit foursquare by a fleeing Flashy, fourteen stone of terrified bone and muscle, and he’ll agree that it’s a moving experience . . .



Flashman on the March, p.240, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Monday, 28 November 2011

Little runaway



      “And the little juggins ran away, on the train last night?”
“Greased lightnin’ off a shovel,” says she cheerfully.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.294, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Wednesday, 20 July 2011

Size of a tangerine



All kind of mad fancies flit by — not to be taken seriously, you understand, but food for wild imaginings — like bleaching your hair and striking out for Valparaiso under the name of Butterworth and never looking near England again . . . two million quid, Lord love us! Aye, but d’you dispose of a diamond the size of a tangerine?

Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.314, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.



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Tuesday, 19 October 2010

Decamp, squeal, or betray



      It’s a remarkable thing (and I’ve traded on it all my life) that a single redeeming quality in a black sheep wins greater esteem than all the virtues in honest men—especially if the quality is courage. I’m lucky, because while I don’t have it, I look as though I do, and worthy souls like Carson and Wootton never suspect that I’m running around with my bowels squirting, ready to decamp, squeal, or betray as occasion demands.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.206, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Monday, 13 September 2010

Built like a champion middleweight



      Now, you know what I think of mortal combat. I’ve run from more than I can count, and never lived to regret it, and this lean ten stone of quivering fighting fury, obviously as nimble as a weasel and built like a champion middleweight, was the last man I wanted to try conclusions with—well, I’d been ill.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.157, Pan Books edition, 1983.



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Wednesday, 25 August 2010

Half the art



      If half the art of survival is running, the other half is keeping a straight face. I can’t count the number of times my fate has depended on my response to some unexpected and abominable proposal—like the night Yakub Beg suggested I join a suicidal attempt to scupper some Russian ammunition ships, or Sapten’s jolly notion about swimming naked into a Gothic castle full of Bismark’s thugs, or Brooke’s command to me to lead a charge against a headhunter’s stockade. Jesu, the times we have seen.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.43, Pan Books edition, 1983.

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Monday, 9 August 2010

My strongest suit



Still, it’s odd that I never got my tongue around it, for apart from fleeing and fornication, slinging the bat* is my strongest suit; well, I speak nine languages better than natives, and can rub along in another dozen or so.


*Speaking the local language (Brit. Army slang)

Flashman and the Redskins, p.17, Pan Books edition, 1983.



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Monday, 26 July 2010

The Flashman Gambit



…suddenly I saw that there was only one way, and a slender hope at that, but it was that or unspeakable death. The Flashman Gambit – when in doubt, run.


Flashman's Lady, p.271, Pan edition, 1979.



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Friday, 8 May 2009

Usually at high speed



[Lord Raglan]‘…In that time, I believe, you have travelled widely?’
    Usually at high speed, thinks I, and not in circumstances I’d care to tell your lordship about…



Flashman at the Charge, p.30, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 10 April 2009

Outside the covers of Hansard




You will wonder, if you’ve read my earlier memoirs (which I suppose are as fine a record of knavery, cowardice and fleeing for cover as you’ll find outside the covers of Hansard), what fearful run of ill fortune got me to Balaclava at all.



Flashman at the Charge, p.11, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Wednesday, 11 March 2009

Fast moves



   ‘My God!’ he cries. ‘Betrayed!’
    Well, I’d heard the same sort of exclamation before, and I’ve heard it since, and there’s no doubt it’s unnerving. But I doubt if there’s a man living who can move faster with his pants round his ankles than I can…



Flash For Freedom!, p.187, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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