H. Rider Haggard (1856 – 1925)
Born in Bradenham, Norfolk, England, was a Victorian writer of adventure novels set in locations considered exotic by readers in his native England.
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My death is very near to me, and of this I am glad, for I desire to pursue the quest in other realms, as it has been promised to me that I shall do.
The food that memory gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the teeth of hope that we can bear to bite it.
I have never observed that the religious are more eager to die than the rest of us poor mortals.
You lie; you always were a liar, and you always will be a liar.
Out of the dark we came, into the dark we go. Like a storm-driven bird at night we fly out of the Nowhere; for a moment our wings are seen in the light of the fire, and, lo! we are gone again into the Nowhere.
We white people think that we know everything.
There is no loneliness like the loneliness of crowds, especially to those who are unaccustomed to them.
It is awkward to listen to oneself being praised, and I was always a shy man.
There are things and there are faces which, when felt or seen for the first time, stamp themselves upon the mind like a sun image on a sensitized plate and there remain unalterably fixed.
For he was a merciful man, who loved not slaughter, although his fierce faith drove him from war to war.
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