If people reach perfection they vanish, you know.
T.H. WhiteTag: inspirational people human perfection
It was Christmas night, the eve of the Boxing Day Meet. You must remember that this was in the old Merry England of Gramarye, when the rosy barons ate with their fingers, and had peacocks served before them with all their tail feathers streaming, or boars' heads with the tusks stuck in again—when there was no unemployment because there were too few people to be unemployed—when the forests rang with knights walloping each other on the helm, and the unicorns in the wintry moonlight stamped with their silver feet and snorted their noble breaths of blue upon the frozen air. Such marvels were great and comfortable ones. But in the Old England there was a greater marvel still. The weather behaved itself.
T.H. WhiteTag: the-once-and-future-king the-sword-in-the-stone
At this the Wart's eyes grew rounder and rounder, until they were about as big as the owl's who was sitting on his shoulder, and his face got redder and redder, and a breath seemed to gather itself beneath his heart.
T.H. WhiteTag: descriptive beautiful
Mordred and Agravaine thought Arthur hypocritical—as all decent men must be, if you assume that decency can’t exist.
T.H. White...All endeavours which are directed to a purely worldly end...contain within themselves the germs of their own corruption.
T.H. WhiteThey made me see that the world was beautiful if you were beautiful, and that you couldn't get unless you gave. And you had to give without wanting to get.
T.H. WhiteThe fate of this man or that man was less than a drop, although it was a sparkling one, in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea.
T.H. WhiteWere they, for some purpose almost too cunning for belief, only disguised as themselves?
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He did not himself believe in the supernatural, but the thing happened, and he proposed to tell it as simply as possible. It was stupid of him to say that it shook his faith in mundane affairs, for it was just as mundane as anything else. Indeed the really frightening part about it was the horribly tangible atmosphere in which it took place. None of the outlines wavered in the least. The creature would have been less remarkable if it had been less natural. It seemed to overcome the usual laws without being immune to them. ("The Troll")
T.H. WhiteTag: supernatural troll mundane creature
I suppose the best way to tell the story is simply to narrate it, without an effort to carry belief. The thing did not require belief. It was not a feeling of horror in one's bones, or a misty outline, or anything that needed to be given actuality by an act of faith. It was as solid as a wardrobe. You don't have to believe in wardrobes. They are there, with corners. (The Troll)
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