Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by R.D. Blackmore

Quote by R.D. Blackmore

Work

Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor

Written by R.D. Blackmore, Lorna Doone is a tale of love and betrayal set against the backdrop of the English countryside. The story follows the adventures of the title character, Lorna, and her romantic entanglements with men from different social classes. The novel is renowned for its vivid descriptions of the Exmoor landscape and its exploration of themes such as loyalty, honor, and the struggle for survival in a harsh environment. more

Author

R.D. Blackmore
R.D. Blackmore

R.D. Blackmore was an English novelist renowned for his romantic novels. Born on June 7, 1825, and passing away on January 20, 1900, Blackmore's works often portrayed the English countryside and its inhabitants. He is best known for his novel 'Lorna Doone'. more

You May Also Like

“People do sometimes change, of course. Habits, allegiances, dreams are all alterable, but only under extraordinary pressure - like great love, fear, grief. More often, people don't change. A girl who never missed a day of work does not suddenly decide to stay home in bed, for no good reason.”

“The diseased, anyway, are more interesting than the healthy. The words of the diseased, even those who can manage only a murmur, carry more weight than those of the healthy. Then, too, all healthy people will in the future know disease. That sense of time, ah, the diseased man’s sense of time, what treasure hidden in a desert cave. Then, too the diseased truly bite, whereas the healthy pretend to bite but really only snap at the air. Then, too, then, too, then, too.”

“Sassenach, I've been stabbed, bitten, slapped, and whipped since supper - which I didna get to finish. I dinna like to scare children an I dinna like to flog men, and I've had to do both. I've two hundred English camped three miles away, and no idea what to do about them. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm sore. If you've anything like womanly sympathy about ye, I could use a bit!”

“There was one of his lonelinesses coming, one of those times when he walked the streets or sat, aimless and depressed, biting a pencil at his desk. It was a self-absorption with no comfort, a demand for expression with no outlet, a sense of time rushing by, ceaselessly and wastefully - assuaged only by that conviction that there was nothing to waste, because all efforts and attainments were equally valueless.”

“She stopped at the desk and held up a can for his view. "This looks like an ordinary hairspray can, right?" "Of course." he said though he had no idea what hairspray was.”