Showing posts with label pious. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pious. Show all posts

Friday, 13 August 2010

Beastly, stupid and helpless



I know the heathen, and their oppressors, pretty well, you see, and the folly of sitting smug in judgement years after, stuffed with piety and ignorance and book-learned bias. Humanity is beastly and stupid, aye, and helpless, and there’s an end to it. and that’s as true for Crazy Horse as it was for Custer


Flashman and the Redskins, p.21, Pan Books edition, 1983.



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Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Memories of Tom Brown



…oh, aye, that brought back Master Brown to memory sharp enough. He was the mealy, freckled little villain who tried to steal my sweepstake ticket, damn him – a pious, crawling little toad-eater who prayed like clockwork and was forever sucking up to Arnold and Brooke – ‘yes, sir, please, sir, I’m a bloody Christian, sir’…



Flashman in the Great Game, p.334, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Wednesday, 24 March 2010

Sins so blacker



Why? Because we were Christian, and supposed to know better? – and becaue England contains this great crowd of noisy know-alls that are forever defending our enemies’ behaviour and crying out in pious horror against our own. Why our sins are always so much blacker, I can’t fathom.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.253, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Monday, 1 March 2010

There’s a fascination about a hanging



There’s a fascination about a hanging, or a good flogging, and the first time I saw a man shot from a gun – at Kabul, that was – I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I’ve noticed, too, that the most pious and humanitarian folk always make sure they get a good view, and while they look grim or pitying or shocked they take care to miss none of the best bits.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.147, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Sunday, 7 September 2008

Flashman on swots






Pious, manly little villains of the type I used to oppress myself in happier days – Tom Brown could have made a football side out of ‘em, I don’t doubt, and had them crying ‘ Play up!’ and telling the truth fit to sicken you.



Royal Flash, p.151, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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