Philip Hoare Quotes & Sayings

Dane lived above a greengrocer's shop at 26 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, with her secretary, Olwen Bowen, herself a writer of children's books, but who now devoted herself to the care of her companion. 'One climbed up a rickety staircase and there was Winifred, surrounded by her paintings, sculptures, a piano and goodness knows how many books, where she would give many after-the-theatre parties . . . — Philip Hoare

The trouble with the world is, Frankie, that there are too many ideals and too little horse sense . . . Human beings don't like peace and good will and everybody loving everybody else . . . they're not made like that. Human beings like eating and drinking and loving and hating. They also like showing off, grabbing all they can, fighting for their rights and bossing anybody who'll give 'em half a chance. — Philip Hoare

John Gielgud thought 'he was never the same after leaving England, though he wouldn't have admitted it. I think that tax business, and the way people reacted to it, shocked him . . . He wasn't much good as a tax exile. He didn't do a lot with his money. His houses were commonplace, the food dreadful, the decoration pretty amateurish. — Philip Hoare

dolphins are not the benevolent mammals we'd like them to be; those beaming faces hide the minds of assassins. — Philip Hoare

The sea defines us, connects us, separates us. Most of us experience only its edges, our available wilderness on a crowded island - it's why we call our coastal towns 'resorts', despite their air of decay. And although it seems constant, it is never the same. One day the shore will be swept clean, the next covered by weed; the shingle itself rises and falls. Perpetually renewing and destroying, the sea proposes a beginning and an ending, an alternative to our landlocked state, an existence to which we are tethered when we might rather be set free. — Philip Hoare

I wash off the night in the water, my scrapes and aches numbed by the sea. My bones have become boughs, all scarred knees and gnarled kuckles. None of us are the same person we once were, since the human body replaces itself every seven years; there have been at least six different mes. — Philip Hoare