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United Kingdom Quotes

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United Kingdom Quotes

“It was night time, Inspector Thompson wrote. Those in the plane were transfixed with delight to look down from the windows and see the amazing spectacle of a whole city lighted up. Washington represented something immensely precious. Freedom, hope, strength. We had not seen an illuminated city for two years. My heart filled.”

“The rich run a global system that allows them to accumulate capital and pay the lowest possible price for labour. The freedom that results applies only to them. The many simply have to work harder, in conditions that grow ever more insecure, to enrich the few. Democratic politics, which purports to enrich the many, is actually in the pocket of those bankers, media barons and other moguls who run and own everything.”

“Lisbon, to me, is the Lisbon of Pessoa. Just like London is Woolf’s, or rather, Mrs. Dalloway’s. Barcelona is Gaudí's and Rome is da Vinci’s. You see them in every crevice and hear their echoes in every cathedral. I’d like to be the child, or rather, the mother of a city but I neither have a home nor a resting place. My race is humankind. My religion is kindness. My work is love and, well, my city is the walls of your heart.”

“It is nine o'clock, and London has breakfasted. Some unconsidered tens of thousands have, it is true, already enjoyed with what appetite they might their pre-prandial meal; the upper fifty thousand, again, have not yet left their luxurious couches, and will not breakfast till ten, eleven o'clock, noon; nay, there shall be sundry listless, languid members of fast military clubs, dwellers among the tents of Jermyn Street, and the high-priced second floors of Little Ryder Street, St. James's, upon whom one, two, and three o'clock in the afternoon shall be but as dawn, and whose broiled bones and devilled kidneys shall scarcely be laid on the damask breakfast-cloth before Sol is red in the western horizon. I wish that, in this age so enamoured of statistical information, when we must needs know how many loads of manure go to every acre of turnip-field, and how many jail-birds are thrust into the black hole per mensem for fracturing their pannikins, or tearing their convict jackets, that some M'Culloch or Caird would tabulate for me the amount of provisions, solid and liquid, consumed at the breakfasts of London every morning. I want to know how many thousand eggs are daily chipped, how many of those embryo chickens are poached, and how many fried; how many tons of quartern loaves are cut up to make bread-and-butter, thick and thin; how many porkers have been sacrificed to provide the bacon rashers, fat and streaky ; what rivers have been drained, what fuel consumed, what mounds of salt employed, what volumes of smoke emitted, to catch and cure the finny haddocks and the Yarmouth bloaters, that grace our morning repast. Say, too, Crosse and Blackwell, what multitudinous demands are matutinally made on thee for pots of anchovy paste and preserved tongue, covered with that circular layer - abominable disc! - of oleaginous nastiness, apparently composed of rancid pomatum, but technically known as clarified butter, and yet not so nasty as that adipose horror that surrounds the truffle bedecked pate  de  foie gras. Say, Elizabeth Lazenby, how many hundred bottles of thy sauce (none of which are genuine unless signed by thee) are in request to give a relish to cold meat, game, and fish. Mysteries upon mysteries are there connected with nine o'clock breakfasts.”

“This tendency to see politics as a conveyor belt on which conservatives fall off and liberals stay on reflects how progressives see the world. Rather than see politics and human nature as what they are - unpredictable, chaotic, messy and volatile - the new elite believe they are on a linear path towards ‘progress’, that history will only ever bend in their direction.”

“Humpty Dumpty (Colonial Sonnet) Humpty Dumpty sat on a throne, he made a career of divide-n-rule. Whole west found a savior in a fool, as he was anointed the royal mule. He smuggled food from starving natives, for fighting troops were far more worthy. Adolf was designated the villain supremo, while he was the free world's beloved Humpty. It's fault of the natives to "breed like rabbits", he was right to be their judge and executioner. After all, human rights mean rights of the pale, freedom and equality don't apply to the darker. Humpty Dumpty was ready with his cigar, to fight the invaders on the beaches. Sure he was the right nut for the job, expertise lies in centuries of practice.”

“Carry on Up The Tower (The Sonnet) British museum is not a repository of relics, it's a time capsule of british barbarism. It's a classic case of cannibalism, narcissism, kleptomania and psychopathy combined in one. Tower of London is not a heritage site, it's the Bedlam of the british. The title of "heritage site" belongs to memories of pride, not primitives. Buckingham palace is not a noble home, it's the national zoo of England, where they coddle massacre 'n stagnation, with no civil initiative for atonement. Nobility of blood is nobility of the jungle, modern nobility involves substance of character, whose identity isn't anchored in transgressions, bloodline defines chimps, humans by behavior.”

“Alien Native (The Sonnet) When natives are treated alien, and aliens take over as master, cultures uprooted by legal decree, honor is stolen as spoils of war, empires erected on blood and bones, when prosperity is rooted in plunder, homes are stripped of hopes and dreams, violations feed the palace of blunder, when baboons are adorned with bootleg, each rock is drenched in bloodshed, when festivities thrive on thievery, correction is cursed as blasphemous, defying the delirium of king and country, rise and stand human against imperial larceny.”

“Baa Baa White Sheep (The Sonnet) Baa baa white sheep, have you any wool! Yes sir, yes sir, London tower full. Pull it over your eyes, or weave it into blanket. All stink of blood and blunder, a scent second not even to crumpet. Imperials rise upon indigenous fall, declaring themselves as light-bringer. Native tears form kohinoor on the crown, Blood is but cologne to the colonizer. Not all of colonial descent are colonizer, but those who take pride in the past are. To these animal ghosts of the human world, no matter your ethnicity send a get well card.”

“Serve Britannia (The Sonnet) Let us build a new Britain, A Britain with actual heart's beauty, Where we shall right our wrongs, Instead of boasting our atrocities. Let us build a new Britain, Where commoners are king and queen, Where unlike our tribal ancestors, Our habit is not occupation but caring. Let us herald a new Britain, Where there is no exit only inclusion, Where no one bows to no one for honor, And each lives with self-determination. Serve Britannia! Britannia, serve as aid. Britain never again shall make others slave.”

“Better britain begins with a better brit, an inclusive brit, a decolonized brit - a brit who knows no king and queen - a brit who celebrates no tomfoolery of coronation - a brit who knows but one race, the human race - a brit who knows but one religion, love - a brit who knows but one tradition, integration.”

“Abuse is somewhat the staff of life in England everything, everybody is to be abused; it is a pity, as nothing more unproductive as this everlasting abuse can be imagined. As nothing ever gave the slightest opening to this abuse, it is hoped that it will be soon got over the meeting of Parliament will now do good in this respect. As far as your few continental relatives are concerned, I don’t think they will be able to fix anything upon your faithful servant. I have done in England at all times good services… Successes of vanity, I am never fishing for in England, nor anywhere else. The only influence I may exercise is to prevent mischief where I can, which occasionally succeeds: if war can be avoided, and the same ends obtained, it is natural that they should be tried first…”

“I propose that an area of no more than 300 square miles, centered roughly upon Henley-on-Thames, has made this quintessentially British town Britain's 'small town and village murder capital'.”

“You vilify Hitler yet glorify Buckingham Palace, when the atrocities of the palace far outweigh the atrocities of Hitler. If Adolf Hitler was a manifestation of the worst of human nature, so was, and still greatly is, Britain, that is, the monarchy and its loyal, spineless subjects.”

“Com’è il morale? In generale”. “Il morale è... eccellente,” disse Nigel, deglutendo con forza. “È un periodo interessantissimo, naturalmente. La Gran Bretagna è a un punto di svolta e noi siamo proprio nell’epicentro... nell’epicentro del turbine che sta... trasfigurando la realtà politica, indirizzandola verso uno sviluppo... decisamente sismico in cui... le placche tettoniche della nostra storia nazionale si stanno spostando, con il risultato di provocare una trasformazione... e io, in qualità di testimone...” All’improvviso si interruppe. Il suo sguardo si perse nel vuoto. Le spalle si afflosciarono. Per un minuto o due rimase a fissare la superficie schiumosa del suo caffè. Alla fine tornò ad alzare gli occhi e le sue successive parole furono le più sincere che Douglas avesse mai sentito uscire dalle sue labbra. “Siamo fottuti.” “Prego?” “Siamo completamente e irrimediabilmente fottuti. È un caos. Corriamo di qua e di là come polli decapitati. Nessuno ha la più pallida idea di quello che sta facendo. Siamo... siamo fottuti.” Rapidamente Doug tirò fuori il cellulare e cominciò a registrare. “È ufficiale?” chiese. “Che importa? Siamo fottuti, perciò che senso ha sapere se è ufficiale?” “Che tipo di caos? Chi corre di qua e di là come un pollo decapitato?” “Tutti. Nessuno escluso. Chi si aspettava un esito simile? Nessuno era pronto. Nessuno sa cosa sia la Brexit. Nessuno sa come attuarla. Un anno e mezzo fa tutti la chiamavano Brixit. Nessuno sa cosa voglia dire Brexit.” “Pensavo che Brexit significasse Brexit.” “Divertente. E come dovrebbe essere questa Brexit?” “Una Brexit rossa, bianca e blu, come dice la May,” citò Doug e di nuovo si dispiacque per Nigel, così infelice. “Ma di sicuro ci saranno frotte di consiglieri... esperti?...” “Esperti?” disse Nigel con amarezza. “Non crediamo più negli esperti. La catena di comando è semplicissima. Ciascuno riceve le sue direttive da Theresa, e Theresa le riceve dal ‘Daily Mail’. E anche da un paio di think tank così fanatici del libero scambio che non li lasceresti...” “Questi think tank...” disse Doug incuriosito. “Non mi dirai che una di loro è l’Imperium Foundation, vero?” “Mio Dio,” disse Nigel, la testa tra le mani. “Sono dappertutto... dappertutto. Sempre pronti a indire riunioni. A bombardarci di tabelle. Dimenticati della volontà del popolo. Sono questi i pazzi che hanno preso il potere.” “Cameron avrebbe saputo fronteggiarli meglio, secondo te?” “Cameron?” disse Nigel con una smorfia. “Un fesso di prima categoria! Un moccioso! Un coglione fatto e finito. Se ne sta nel suo capanno del cazzo a scrivere le sue memorie. Guarda che disastro si è lasciato alle spalle. Tutti pronti a pugnalarsi alle spalle. Gli stranieri vengono insultati per la strada. Aggrediti sull’autobus. Invitati a tornarsene da dove sono venuti. Se uno non riga dritto, ecco che subito diventa un traditore e un nemico del popolo. Cameron ha demolito questo paese, Doug. L’ha demolito ed è scappato.”

“Frustrato, Doug tentò un’altra strada. “Ascolta, supponiamo che la maggioranza voti per la Brexit e noi...” “Scusami se ti interrompo,” disse Nigel. “Supponiamo che la maggioranza voti per cosa?” “Brexit.” Nigel lo guardò sbalordito. “Come mai salti fuori con questa parola?” “Non è così che la chiamano tutti?” “Credevo che si dicesse Brixit.” “Cosa? Brixit?” “Noi diciamo così.” “Noi... chi?” “Dave e tutto il gruppo.” “Tutti dicono Brexit. Da dove viene Brixit?” “Non lo so. Pensavo che si dicesse così.” Di nuovo prese un appunto sul taccuino. “Brexit? Sei sicuro?” “Sicurissimo. È una parola composta. British exit.” “British exit... Allora dovrebbe essere Brixit?” “Be’, i greci l’hanno chiamata Grexit.” “I greci? Non sono usciti dall’Unione europea.” “No, ma hanno valutato la possibilità di farlo.” “Noi non siamo i greci. Dovremmo avere una parola che sia unicamente nostra?” “Ce l’abbiamo. Brexit.” “Ma noi continuiamo a dire Brixit.” Scuotendo la testa, Nigel continuò a scrivere. “Sarà una notizia bomba nel prossimo consiglio dei ministri. Spero che non tocchi a me comunicarlo.” “A che ti serve avere una definizione se sei sicuro che la cosa non succederà?” gli domandò Doug. Nigel sorrise felice. “Naturale... hai ragione da vendere. Non succederà e quindi non ci serve definirla.” “Ecco, vedi.” “Dopotutto, tra un anno, nessuno si ricorderà più di questa stupida faccenda.” “Esattamente.” “Nessuno si ricorderà che qualcuno voleva la Brixit.” “Proprio così. Però, sai, alcuni di loro...” Si chiese come dovesse metterla. “Sono personaggi da prendere sul serio, no? Boris Johnson, per esempio. Un vero peso massimo.” “Non infierire sul suo aspetto fisico,” disse Nigel. “Anche se Dave è molto arrabbiato con lui.” “Non si aspettava che si pronunciasse a favore dell’uscita?” “No, non se l’aspettava.” “Gira voce che la sera prima che il ‘Telegraph’ andasse in stampa, Boris avesse preparato due articoli – uno in cui sosteneva l’uscita e l’altro in cui si dichiarava favorevole a restare nell’Unione europea.” “Non ci credo per niente,” disse Nigel. “Boris avrebbe preparato tre articoli: uno per uscire, l’altro per restare e il terzo perché non riusciva a decidere. Gli piace essere sempre pronto.”“E poi c’è Michael Gove. Un altro attaccante che si è pronunciato a favore dell’uscita.” “Lo so. Dave è arrabbiatissimo con Michael. Per fortuna rimangono molti conservatori leali e di buon senso che apprezzano i benefici di restare membri della UE. Credo che tu vada a letto con una di loro. Ma prova a immaginare cosa pensa Dave di Michael e di alcuni altri. Insomma, è andato a Bruxelles, è tornato con un accordo assai vantaggioso, e questi non sono ancora contenti.” “Semplice: a molti non va giù la UE,” disse Doug. “Pensano che non sia democratica.” “Sì, ma uscirne sarebbe un male per l’economia.” “Pensano che la Germania comandi a bacchetta su tutti.” “Sì, ma uscirne sarebbe un male per l’economia.” “Pensano che dalla Polonia e dalla Romania siano arrivati troppi immigrati che spingono i salari al ribasso.” “Sì, ma uscirne sarebbe un male per l’economia.” “D’accordo,” disse Doug. “Credo di avere appena capito quali saranno i tre punti strategici della campagna di Dave.” Adesso era il suo turno di prendere appunti. “E come la mettiamo con Jeremy Corbyn?” Nigel inspirò con un lungo sibilo e sobbalzò visibilmente. “Jeremy Corbyn?” “Se il quadro è questo, lui dove si colloca?” “Preferisco non parlarne.” “Perché no?” “Perché no? Perché è un marxista. Marxista, leninista, trotzkista, comunista. Maoista, bolscevico, anarchico, di sinistra. Un socialista fondamentalista, anticapitalista, antimonarchico, pro-terrorismo.” “Ma è anche uno che vuole rimanere nella UE.” “Davvero?” “Così dice.” “Allora, naturalmente, saremo felici di averlo a bordo. Ma non credo che Dave sarebbe pronto a condividere alcunché sul piano politico.” “Non sarà necessario. È Jeremy il primo a respingere un accordo di questo tipo.” “Bene.”

“Now was the moment and the moment was now. For in perhaps as little as twenty weeks' time, ill-informed voters, stuffed with incoherent arguments, like hissing geese force-fed nostalgia and hate to produce an idelible pâté of groundless opinion, would be asked to decide nothing less than what sort of country we want to live in and bequeath to those who come after us.”

“It may seem strange to call this slow collapse invisible since so much of it is obvious: the deep uncertainties about the union after the Good Friday Agreement of 1998 and the establishment of the Scottish Parliament the following year; the consequent rise of English nationalism; the profound regional inequalities within England itself; the generational divergence of values and aspirations; the undermining of the welfare state and its promise of shared citizenship; the contempt for the poor and vulnerable expressed through austerity; the rise of a sensationally self-indulgent and clownish ruling class. But the collective effects of these inter-related developments seem to have been barely visible within the political mainstream until David Cameron accidentally took the lid off by calling the EU referendum and asked people to endorse the status quo. What we see with the mask pulled back and the fog of fantasies at last beginning to dissipate is the revelation that Brexit is much less about Britain's relationship with the EU than it is about Britain's relationship with itself. It is the projection outwards of an inner turmoil. An archaic political system carried on even while its foundations in a collective sense of belonging were crumbling. Brexit in one way alone has done a real service: it has forced the old system to play out its death throes in public. The spectacle is ugly, but at least it shows that a fissiparous four-nation state cannot be governed without radical social and cconstitutional change.”

“This historic general election, which showed that the British are well able to distinguish between patriotism and Toryism, brought Clement Attlee to the prime ministership. In the succeeding five years, Labor inaugurated the National Health Service, the first and boldest experiment in socialized medicine. It took into public ownership all the vital (and bankrupted) utilities of the coal, gas, electricity and railway industries. It even nibbled at the fiefdoms and baronies of private steel, air transport and trucking. It negotiated the long overdue independence of India. It did all this, in a country bled white by the World War and subject to all manner of unpopular rationing and controls, without losing a single midterm by-election (a standard not equaled by any government of any party since). And it was returned to office at the end of a crowded term.”

“Beyond King and Crumpet (Uncoronation Sonnet) There's not one but two UKs - one is United Kingdom, where animals worship a king, another is United Kin-dom, where humans live as kin. Storm's coming! Huts and homes of the humble will thrive, while castles and palaces of thieves will crumble. Either we are explorers of equality and dignity, or we are crown worshipping animal. Putting all kings and queens to bed, Citizens must come out and work the soil. Enough chasing the parade of dead meat, March your own parade, tackling turmoil! Crown, cross and rigid constitution, Mindlessness has taken many a form. Beyond the fetish of king and crumpet, Beckon the rays of an honorable dawn.”