Showing posts with label spite. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spite. Show all posts

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Comb my memoirs



A scoundrel I may be, but I ain’t an assassin, and you will comb my memoirs in vain for mention of Flashy as First Murderer. Oh, I’ve put away more than I can count, in the line of duty, from stark necessity, and once or twice from spite — de Gautet springs to mind, and the pandy I shot at Meerut — but they deserved it. Anyway, I don’t kill chaps I don’t know.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.194, Harper Collins, 1995.

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Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Snug and helpless



And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, which young military men should bear in mind, it’s that the foeman is generally as glad to accept your surrender as you are to give it. Mind you, he may turn spiteful later, when he’s got you snug and helpless (I often do), but that’s a risk you must run, you know.

Flashman and the Dragon, p.186, Fontana Paperback edition, 1986.




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Thursday, 14 January 2010

Ill thoughts and spit



‘Let the ill think ill,’ says I easily. ‘The spittle of a durwan* will not drown a soldier.’

* Door-keeper.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.74, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Friday, 7 November 2008

Reserve your spite



Of course, when you’re old and fairly well pickled in drink you can forgive most things past , and reserve your spite for the neighbours who keep you awake at night and the children who get under your feet.



Royal Flash, p.270, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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