Jerome K. Jerome quotes

Jerome K. Jerome photo
87   5

Jerome K. Jerome

Birthdate: 2. May 1859
Date of death: 14. June 1927
Other names: Джэром Клапка Джэром, Klapka Jerome Jerome

Jerome Klapka Jerome was an English writer and humourist, best known for the comic travelogue Three Men in a Boat .

Other works include the essay collections Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow and Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow; Three Men on the Bummel, a sequel to Three Men in a Boat, and several other novels. Wikipedia

Works

Diary of a Pilgrimage
Diary of a Pilgrimage
Jerome K. Jerome
They and I
They and I
Jerome K. Jerome

„Once we discover how to appreciate the timeless values in our daily experiences, we can enjoy the best things in life.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome

Harry Pepner, as quoted in Chicken Soup for the Soul : Stories for a Better World (2005) by Jack Canfield, p. 2
Misattributed

„Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome, book Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow

"On Being in Love".
Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)
Context: Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it. Also like the measles, we take it only once... No, we never sicken with love twice. Cupid spends no second arrow on the same heart.

„I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome, book Three Men in a Boat

Variant: I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.
Source: Three Men in a Boat (1889), Ch. 15.
Context: It always does seem to me that I am doing more work than I should do. It is not that I object to the work, mind you; I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me: the idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.

„A shy man's lot is not a happy one. The men dislike him, the women despise him, and he dislikes and despises himself. Use brings him no relief, and there is no cure for him except time.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome, book Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow

Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)
Context: All great literary men are shy. I am myself, though I am told it is hardly noticeable. I am glad it is not. It used to be extremely prominent at one time, and was the cause of much misery to myself and discomfort to every one about me—my lady friends especially complained most bitterly about it. A shy man's lot is not a happy one. The men dislike him, the women despise him, and he dislikes and despises himself. Use brings him no relief, and there is no cure for him except time.

„Thoughts we cannot speak but only listen to flood in upon us, and standing in the stillness under earth's darkening dome, we feel that we are greater than our petty lives. Hung round with those dusky curtains, the world is no longer a mere dingy workshop, but a stately temple wherein man may worship, and where at times in the dimness his groping hands touch God's.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome, book Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow

Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)
Context: A solemn sadness reigns. A great peace is around us. In its light our cares of the working day grow small and trivial, and bread and cheese—ay, and even kisses—do not seem the only things worth striving for. Thoughts we cannot speak but only listen to flood in upon us, and standing in the stillness under earth's darkening dome, we feel that we are greater than our petty lives. Hung round with those dusky curtains, the world is no longer a mere dingy workshop, but a stately temple wherein man may worship, and where at times in the dimness his groping hands touch God's.

„Human thought is not a firework, ever shooting off fresh forms and shapes as it burns; it is a tree, growing very slowly — you can watch it long and see no movement — very silently, unnoticed.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome

Dreams http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext97/jjdrm10.txt
Context: Human thought is not a firework, ever shooting off fresh forms and shapes as it burns; it is a tree, growing very slowly — you can watch it long and see no movement — very silently, unnoticed. It was planted in the world many thousand years ago, a tiny, sickly plant. And men guarded it and tended it, and gave up life and fame to aid its growth. In the hot days of their youth, they came to the gate of the garden and knocked, begging to be let in, and to be counted among the gardeners. And their young companions without called to them to come back, and play the man with bow and spear, and win sweet smiles from rosy lips, and take their part amid the feast, and dance, not stoop with wrinkled brows, at weaklings' work. And the passers by mocked them and called shame, and others cried out to stone them. And still they stayed there laboring, that the tree might grow a little, and they died and were forgotten.
And the tree grew fair and strong. The storms of ignorance passed over it, and harmed it not. The fierce fires of superstition soared around it; but men leaped into the flames and beat them back, perishing, and the tree grew. With the sweat of their brow have men nourished its green leaves. Their tears have moistened the earth about it. With their blood they have watered its roots.
The seasons have come and passed, and the tree has grown and flourished. And its branches have spread far and high, and ever fresh shoots are bursting forth, and ever new leaves unfolding to the light. But they are all part of the one tree — the tree that was planted on the first birthday of the human race. The stem that bears them springs from the gnarled old trunk that was green and soft when white-haired Time was a little child; the sap that feeds them is drawn up through the roots that twine and twist about the bones of the ages that are dead.

„In what awe you stood of her! How miserable you were when you had offended her! And yet, how pleasant to be bullied by her and to sue for pardon without having the slightest notion of what your fault was! How dark the world was when she snubbed you, as she often did, the little rogue, just to see you look wretched; how sunny when she smiled! How jealous you were of every one about her! How you hated every man she shook hands with, every woman she kissed—the maid that did her hair, the boy that cleaned her shoes, the dog she nursed—though you had to be respectful to the last-named! How you looked forward to seeing her, how stupid you were when you did see her, staring at her without saying a word! How impossible it was for you to go out at any time of the day or night without finding yourself eventually opposite her windows!“

—  Jerome K. Jerome, book Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow

Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)
Context: And who would not risk its terrors to gain its raptures? Ah, what raptures they were! The mere recollection thrills you. How delicious it was to tell her that you loved her, that you lived for her, that you would die for her! How you did rave, to be sure, what floods of extravagant nonsense you poured forth, and oh, how cruel it was of her to pretend not to believe you! In what awe you stood of her! How miserable you were when you had offended her! And yet, how pleasant to be bullied by her and to sue for pardon without having the slightest notion of what your fault was! How dark the world was when she snubbed you, as she often did, the little rogue, just to see you look wretched; how sunny when she smiled! How jealous you were of every one about her! How you hated every man she shook hands with, every woman she kissed—the maid that did her hair, the boy that cleaned her shoes, the dog she nursed—though you had to be respectful to the last-named! How you looked forward to seeing her, how stupid you were when you did see her, staring at her without saying a word! How impossible it was for you to go out at any time of the day or night without finding yourself eventually opposite her windows!

Help us translate English quotes

Discover interesting quotes and translate them.

Start translating

„But we are so blind to our own shortcomings, so wide awake to those of others. Everything that happens to us is always the other person's fault. Angelina would have gone on loving Edwin forever and ever and ever if only Edwin had not grown so strange and different. Edwin would have adored Angelina through eternity if Angelina had only remained the same as when he first adored her. It is a cheerless hour for you both when the lamp of love has gone out and the fire of affection is not yet lit, and you have to grope about in the cold, raw dawn of life to kindle it.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome, book Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow

Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)
Context: Poor little Angelina, too, sheds silent tears, for Edwin has given up carrying her old handkerchief in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. Both are astonished at the falling off in the other one, but neither sees their own change. If they did they would not suffer as they do. They would look for the cause in the right quarter—in the littleness of poor human nature—join hands over their common failing, and start building their house anew on a more earthly and enduring foundation. But we are so blind to our own shortcomings, so wide awake to those of others. Everything that happens to us is always the other person's fault. Angelina would have gone on loving Edwin forever and ever and ever if only Edwin had not grown so strange and different. Edwin would have adored Angelina through eternity if Angelina had only remained the same as when he first adored her. It is a cheerless hour for you both when the lamp of love has gone out and the fire of affection is not yet lit, and you have to grope about in the cold, raw dawn of life to kindle it. God grant it catches light before the day is too far spent. Many sit shivering by the dead coals till night come.

„The seasons have come and passed, and the tree has grown and flourished. And its branches have spread far and high, and ever fresh shoots are bursting forth, and ever new leaves unfolding to the light.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome

Dreams http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext97/jjdrm10.txt
Context: Human thought is not a firework, ever shooting off fresh forms and shapes as it burns; it is a tree, growing very slowly — you can watch it long and see no movement — very silently, unnoticed. It was planted in the world many thousand years ago, a tiny, sickly plant. And men guarded it and tended it, and gave up life and fame to aid its growth. In the hot days of their youth, they came to the gate of the garden and knocked, begging to be let in, and to be counted among the gardeners. And their young companions without called to them to come back, and play the man with bow and spear, and win sweet smiles from rosy lips, and take their part amid the feast, and dance, not stoop with wrinkled brows, at weaklings' work. And the passers by mocked them and called shame, and others cried out to stone them. And still they stayed there laboring, that the tree might grow a little, and they died and were forgotten.
And the tree grew fair and strong. The storms of ignorance passed over it, and harmed it not. The fierce fires of superstition soared around it; but men leaped into the flames and beat them back, perishing, and the tree grew. With the sweat of their brow have men nourished its green leaves. Their tears have moistened the earth about it. With their blood they have watered its roots.
The seasons have come and passed, and the tree has grown and flourished. And its branches have spread far and high, and ever fresh shoots are bursting forth, and ever new leaves unfolding to the light. But they are all part of the one tree — the tree that was planted on the first birthday of the human race. The stem that bears them springs from the gnarled old trunk that was green and soft when white-haired Time was a little child; the sap that feeds them is drawn up through the roots that twine and twist about the bones of the ages that are dead.

„It is always the best policy to speak the truth, unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar.“

—  Jerome K. Jerome

Idler Magazine, Volume 1 http://books.google.com/books?id=vMYaAAAAYAAJ&q=exceptionally+good+liar#search_anchor|The

„Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Etiam egestas wisi a erat. Morbi imperdiet, mauris ac auctor dictum.“

Similar authors

Douglas Adams photo
Douglas Adams317
English writer and humorist
Will Rogers photo
Will Rogers119
American humorist and entertainer
Terry Pratchett photo
Terry Pratchett794
English author
P.G. Wodehouse photo
P.G. Wodehouse302
English author
Aldous Huxley photo
Aldous Huxley286
English writer
Richard Aldington photo
Richard Aldington4
English writer and poet
Virginia Woolf photo
Virginia Woolf381
English writer
T.S. Eliot photo
T.S. Eliot265
20th century English author
Oliver Herford photo
Oliver Herford14
American writer
Peter Ustinov photo
Peter Ustinov59
English actor, writer, and dramatist
Today anniversaries
Edna St. Vincent Millay photo
Edna St. Vincent Millay69
American poet 1892 - 1950
Marsilio Ficino photo
Marsilio Ficino9
Italian philosopher 1433 - 1499
Cesare Lombroso photo
Cesare Lombroso7
Italian criminologist 1835 - 1909
Russell Kirk photo
Russell Kirk5
American political theorist and writer 1918 - 1994
Another 62 today anniversaries
Similar authors
Douglas Adams photo
Douglas Adams317
English writer and humorist
Will Rogers photo
Will Rogers119
American humorist and entertainer
Terry Pratchett photo
Terry Pratchett794
English author
P.G. Wodehouse photo
P.G. Wodehouse302
English author
Aldous Huxley photo
Aldous Huxley286
English writer