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Historical Fiction Quotes

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Historical Fiction Quotes

“That is the Mozambique border over there, just beyond the second kopje, only seven or eight miles from here.' 'Mozambique, ' Claudia murmured, peering through her binoculars. 'The name has such a romantic ring to it.' 'Not so romantic. It's just another triumph of African socialism abd the carefully thought-out economic policy of chaos and ruination; Sean grunted. 'I cant take racism before breakfast; Claudia told him icily. 'All right; Sean grinned. 'Suffice it to say that just across the border there you have twelve years of Marxism, corruption, greed and incompetence, just beginning to bear fruit. You have a civil war raging out of control, famine that will probably starve a million people, and epidemic disease, including Aids, that will kill another million in the next five years.”

SocialismHistorical FictionSouth AfricaMozambique
Book:A Time to Die
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“Before we commence this guided tour of Mozambiquan paradise of the proletariat, this shining gem of African socialism, will you bear with me while I give you a few facts and figures. Nobody protested, so he went on. Until 1975 Mozambique was a Portuguese colony. For almost five hundred years it had been under Portuguese control and had been a reasonably happy and prosperous community of some fifteen million souls. The Portugese unlike the British or German colonists had a relaxed attitude towards miscegenation and the result was a large mulatto population, and an official policy of 'Assimilado' under which any person of colour , if he attained certain civilised standards, was considered to be white and enjoyed Portugese nationality. It all worked very well, as indeed did most colonial administrations, especially those of the British.' 'Bullshit,' said Claudia demurely. 'That's limey propaganda. 'Limey?" Sean smiled thinly. 'Carefull, your prejudice is showing, nonetheless your average Indian or African living today in a former British colony is a damned sight worse off now than he was then. Certainly that goes one hundred times more for your average black man living in Mozambique.' 'At least they are free,' Claudia cut in, and Sean laughed. 'This is freedom? an economy managed under the well-known socialist principles of chaos and ruination which has resulted in a negative growth rate of up to ten per cent per annum every year since the Portuguese withdrawal, a foreign debt amounting to double the gross national product, a total breakdown in the education system, and only five per cent of children regularly attending a recognised school, one doctor per forty five thousand persons, only one person in ten with access to purified drinking water, infant mortality at 340 per 1000 births. The only worse countries in the world are Afghanistan and Angola, but as you say, at least they are free. In America, where everyone eats three huge meals a day, freedom may be a big deal, but in Africa a full belly counts a hell of alot more'. 'It can't be as bad as that,' she protested. 'No,' he agreed. It's a lot worse. I haven't mentioned two other factors, the civil war and aids. When the Portugese were pushed out, they handed over to a dictator named Samaro Machel and his Frelimo party. Machel was an avowed Marxist. He didn't believe in the nonsense of elections, and his rule was directly responsible for the present condition of the country, and for the emergence of the National Mozambiquan resistance or as it is known to its freinds and admirers, Renamo. Nobody knows much about it, what its objectives are, who its leaders are, all we know it that it controls most of the country, especially the north, and that it made up of a pretty ruthless bunch of characters.' 'Renamo is a South African front organisation, directed, supplied and controlled from Pretoria,' Claudia helped him out. 'Committed to the overthrow of sovereign government and the destabilisation of the southern continent.' 'Well done, ducky, ' Sean nodded approval. 'You've been studying the wisdom and erudition of the Organisation of African Unity and the non-aligned nations. You have even mastered their jargon. If only South Africa had the military and technological capacity to commit half the skulduggery it is accused of, it would not be simply the most powerful country in Africa.”

Historical FictionColonialismSouth AfricaAfricaApartheidMozambique
Book:A Time to Die
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“Güvendin değil mi? Bilmeliydin, emrindeki Germiyanlıların yanımdaki beylerine geleceğini. Bilmeliydin, kara tatarların yanımdaki soydaşlarına geleceğini. Bilmeliydin, Saruhanlıların yanımdaki şehzadeyi seçeceğini. Ve bilmeliydin, ben bu diyarın ve ötesinin en büyük hükümdarıyım. Ben Cengizsoylu oğullara ve torunlara sahip, sahipkıranım. Ben Cengiz'in damadıyım.”

Historical FictionHistorical RomanceTürk EdebiyatıHistorical NovelHistorical Fiction NovelTarihi RomanTarihi KurguTimurYıldırım Bayezid
Book:Larende'nin Yükselişi
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“Antonio looked down, silent, as Shillitoni kept talking. There he was, among cold-blooded killers, talking to a gangster. A much different picture than a year prior. “Can’t trust priests, can’t trust cops either. Can’t trust nobody! Whaddaya say?” “I am not like you,” Antonio said. “I’m not like them, either. That’s what I say. I am not a cold-blooded killer!” “Ya killed, you a killa! There’s not’ng more to it!” Shillitoni said.”

Historical FictionSing Sing
Book:Antonio's Will
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“It happened so quickly. One minute I was plucking the flower, and the next I was in his chariot immersed in darkness. I struggled to wrench myself free from his grasp and run away. I twisted as far as I could, hoping to see mother chasing after me. But ahead of me, behind me, on either side of me, everywhere I looked, all I could see was darkness.”

Historical FictionRetellingMythic FictionDemeter And Persephone
Book:A Pomegranate and the Maiden
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“The word began to filter down the lines, and the grumbling stopped, there was something new about this march, something these men had never been a part of before. If the fight in the Wilderness had not gone their way—the most optimistic called it a draw—they were not doing what this army had always done before, they were not going back above the river. If they had never said much about Grant, had never thought him any different from the ones who had come before, if they had become so used to the steady parade of failure, this time there was a difference. Some wanted to cheer, but were hushed by nervous officers. So along the dusty roads hats went up and muskets were held high, a silent salute to this new commander. This time, they were marching south.”

Historical FictionAmerican Civil WarCivil War Eastern TheaterArmy Of The PotomacOverland Campaign
Book:The Last Full Measure
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“In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defense. - Sixth Amendment, United States Constitution”

ConstitutionHistorical FictionSixth Amendment
Book:Antonio's Will
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“We cannot save everyone, can we?’ I said to her as we continued walking on our way. I turned my head back only to find the spot the beggar had occupied empty. ‘Not everyone,’ she said. She took my hand once more in hers, kissed the back of it, and finished one of the sincerest axioms I had heard in sometime. ‘We must save,’ she said, ‘only the ones we can while we can.’ Leila Bakr, in A TIME TO LOVE IN TEHRAN, and speaking to her love, John Lockwood”

RomanceLove StoryHistorical FictionEspionage NovelsA Time To Love In TehranC G FewstonCg FewstonCgfLeila And John
Author:C.G. Fewston
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“He was out in the open, waving his hat, pointing to a grove of trees. A moment later Buford looked that way and the horse was bare-backed. He did not believe it. He broke off and rode to see. Reynolds lay in the dirt road, the aides bending over him. When Buford got there the thick stain had already puddled the dirt beneath his head. His eyes were open, half asleep, his face pleasant and composed, a soft smile. Buford knelt. He was dead. An aide, a young sergeant, was crying. Buford backed away. They put a blanket over him. Off to the left there was massive firing. There was a moment of silence around them. Buford said, “Take him out of here.”

Historical FictionAmerican Civil WarGettysburg CampaignBattle Of Gettysburg
Book:The Killer Angels
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