“Talk never yet could guide any man's or nation's affairs; nor will it yours, except towards the Limbus Patrum, where all talk, except a very select kind of it, lodges at last.”

— Thomas Carlyle

1850s, Latter-Day Pamphlets (1850), Stump Orator (May 1, 1850)

Adopted from Wikiquote. Last update June 3, 2021. History

Help us to complete the source, original and additional information

Do you have more details about the quote "Talk never yet could guide any man's or nation's affairs; nor will it yours, except towards the Limbus Patrum, where al…" by Thomas Carlyle?

Thomas Carlyle 481

Scottish philosopher, satirical writer, essayist, historian… 1795–1881

Related quotes

“Never look for complexity in diplomatic decisions. With very few exceptions, actions always devolve—and that’s the exact term—from someone’s self-interest. Not the national self-interest, by the way. We are talking here about individual careers.”

Jack McDevitt book Infinity Beach

Source: Infinity Beach (2000), Chapter 15 (p. 218)

“We talk about this and that. There’s no rest except on these branching moments.”

Rumi (1207–1273) Iranian poet

"Spring is Christ" in Ch. 4 : Spring Giddiness, p. 38
Disputed, The Essential Rumi (1995)

“To talk about religion except in terms of human psychology is an irrelevance.”

Aldous Huxley (1894–1963) English writer

“One and Many,” p. 3
Do What You Will (1928)

“I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane.”

George Orwell book 1984

Source: 1984

“Literature was a vast minefield occupied by enemies, except for a few classic authors (just a few), and every day I had to walk through that minefield, where any false move could be fatal, with only the poems of Archilochus to guide me.”

Roberto Bolaño (1953–2003) Chilean author

"Meeting with Enrique Lihn" (The New Yorker,December 22, 2008)
Context: Literature was a vast minefield occupied by enemies, except for a few classic authors (just a few), and every day I had to walk through that minefield, where any false move could be fatal, with only the poems of Archilochus to guide me. It’s like that for all young writers. There comes a time when you have no support, not even from friends, forget about mentors, and there’s no one to give you a hand; publication, prizes, and grants are reserved for the others, the ones who said “Yes, sir,” over and over, or those who praised the literary mandarins, a never-ending horde distinguished only by their aptitude for discipline and punishment — nothing escapes them and they forgive nothing.