Thomas Cromwell is now about fifty years old. He has a labourer's body, stocky, useful, running to fat. He has black hair, greying now, and because of his impermeable skin, which seems designed to resist rain as well as sun, people sneer that his father was an Irishman, though really he was a brewer and a blacksmith at Putney, a shearsman too, a man with a finger in every pie, a scrapper and a brawler, a drunk and a bully, a man often hauled before the justices for punching someone, for cheating someone. How the son of such a man has achieved his present eminence is a question all Europe asks.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-figures
He draws a line under his conclusions. Says, 'Gregory, what should I do about the great worm?'
'Send a commission against it, sir,' the boy says. 'It must be put down.'
He gives his son a long look. 'You do know it's Arthur Cobbler's tales?'
Gregory gives him a long look back. 'Yes, I do know.' He sounds regretful. 'But it makes people so happy when I believe them.
Stichwörter: historical-fiction
How many men can say, as I must, 'I am a man whose only friend is the King of England'? I have everything, you would think. And yet take Henry away, and I have nothing.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction
But you see, Crumb, it is hard to give up what you have worked at since you were a boy. There were some Italian visitors once, they were cheering us on, Brandon and myself, and they thought that Achilles and Hector had come back to life. So they said.'
But which is which? One dragged through the dust by the other ...
The king says, 'You turn your boy out beautifully. No nobleman could do more.'
'I don't want him to be Achilles,' he says, 'I only want him not to be flattened.
Stichwörter: historical-fiction
Your love of glory must conquer your will to survive; or why fight at all? Why not be a smith, a brewer, a wool merchant? Why are you in the contest, if not to win, and if not to win, then to die?
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction
If Mary's blood is Spanish, at least it is royal. And at least she can walk straight and has control of her bowels.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction
... those sectaries in Europe who are always expecting the end of the world, but who hope that, after the earth has been consumed by fire, they will be seated in glory: grilled a little, crisp at the edges and blackened in parts, but still, thanks be to God, alive for eternity, and seated at his right hand.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction
... every monarch needs a blow on the head, from time to time.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction royals
You know what it's like when a cart overturns in the street? Everybody you meet has witnessed it. They saw a man's leg sliced clean off. They saw a woman gasp her last. They saw the goods looted, thieves stealing from the back-end while the carter was crushed at the front. They heard a man roar out his last confession, while another whispered his last will and testament. And if all the people who say they were there had really been there, then the dregs of London would have drained to the one spot, the gaols emptied of thieves, the beds empty of whores, and all the lawyers standing on the shoulders of the butchers to get a better look.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction
You can be merry with the king, you can share a joke with him. But as Thomas More used to say, it's like sporting with a tamed lion. You tousle its mane and pull its ears, but all the time you're thinking, those claws, those claws, those claws.
Hilary MantelStichwörter: historical-fiction
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