QUOTES AND IMAGES FROM HARRY LORREQUER



THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.



A crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops

And some did pray—who never prayed before

Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity

Enjoy the name without the gain

Enough is as good as a feast

Fighting like devils for conciliation

Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one

Hating each other for the love of God

He was very much disguised in drink

How ingenious is self-deception

My English proves me Irish

Mistaking zeal for inclination

Mistaking your abstraction for attention

Rather a dabbler in the "ologies"

The tone of assumed compassion

That "to stand was to fall,"

That land of punch, priests, and potatoes

What will not habit accomplish



"We talked of pipe-clay regulation caps— Long twenty-fours—short culverins and mortars— Condemn'd the 'Horse Guards' for a set of raps, And cursed our fate at being in such quarters. Some smoked, some sighed, and some were heard to snore; Some wished themselves five fathoms 'neat the Solway; And some did pray—who never prayed before— That they might get the 'route' for Cork or Galway."



FAVORITE QUOTATIONS

A c'est egal, mam'selle, they don't mind these things in France A rather unlady-like fondness for snuff A crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops Accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction Accustomed to the slowness and the uncertainty of the law Air of one who seeks to consume than enjoy his time Always a pleasure felt in the misfortunes of even our best friend Amount of children which is algebraically expressed by an X And some did pray—who never prayed before Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity Brought a punishment far exceeding the merits of the case Chateaux en Espagne Chew over the cud of his misfortune Daily association sustains the interest of the veriest trifles Dear, dirty Dublin—Io te salute Delectable modes of getting over the ground through life Devilish hot work, this, said the colonel Disputing "one brandy too much" in his bill Empty, valueless, heartless flirtation Ending—I never yet met the man who could tell when it ended Enjoy the name without the gain Enough is as good as a feast Escaped shot and shell to fall less gloriously beneath champagne Every misfortune has an end at last Exclaimed with Othello himself, "Chaos was come again;" Fearful of a self-deception where so much was at stake Fighting like devils for conciliation Finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly Gardez vous des femmes, and more especially if they be Irish Green silk, "a little off the grass, and on the bottle" Had a most remarkable talent for selecting a son-in-law Had to hear the "proud man's contumely" Half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before him Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one Hating each other for the love of God He first butthers them up, and then slithers them down He was very much disguised in drink How ingenious is self-deception If such be a sin, "then heaven help the wicked" Indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarily encountered Involuntary satisfaction at some apparent obstacle to my path Jaunting-cars, with three on a side and "one in the well" Least important functionaries took the greatest airs upon them Levelling character of a taste for play Listen to reason, as they would call it in Ireland Memory of them when hallowed by time or distance Might almost excite compassion even in an enemy Misfortune will find you out, if ye were hid in a tay chest Mistaking zeal for inclination Mistaking your abstraction for attention My English proves me Irish My French always shows me to be English Never able to restrain myself from a propensity to make love Nine-inside leathern "conveniency," bumping ten miles an hour No equanimity like his who acts as your second in a duel Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so well founded Nothing ever makes a man so agreeable as the belief that he is Now, young ladies, come along, and learn something, if you can Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace that kills Opportunely been so overpowered as to fall senseless Other bottle of claret that lies beyond the frontier of prudence Packed jury of her relatives, who rarely recommend you to mercy Pleased are we ever to paint the past according to our own fancy Profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussing medicine Profuse in his legends of his own doings in love and war Rather better than people with better coats on them Rather a dabbler in the "ologies" Recovered as much of their senses as the wine had left them Respectable heir-loom of infirmity Seems ever to accompany dullness a sustaining power of vanity Sixteenthly, like a Presbyterian minister's sermon Stoicism which preludes sending your friend out of the world Strong opinions against tobacco within doors Suppose I have laughed at better men than ever he was Sure if he did, doesn't he take it out o' me in the corns? That vanity which wine inspires That "to stand was to fall," That land of punch, priests, and potatoes The divil a bit better she was nor a pronoun The tone of assumed compassion The "fat, fair, and forty" category There are unhappily impracticable people in the world There is no infatuation like the taste for flirtation They were so perfectly contented with their self-deception Time, that 'pregnant old gentleman,' will disclose all Unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb Vagabond if Providence had not made me a justice of the peace We pass a considerable portion of our lives in a mimic warfare What will not habit accomplish What we wish, we readily believe When you pretended to be pleased, unluckily, I believed you Whenever he was sober his poverty disgusted him Whiskey, the appropriate liquor in all treaties of this nature Whose paraphrase of the book of Job was refused Wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone poverty



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