Nancy-Mitford

In the hope of keeping him quiet for a few hours Freddy & I have bet Randolph 20 [pounds] that he cannot read the whole Bible in a fortnight. It would have been worth it at the price. Unhappily it has not had the result we hoped. He has never read any of it before and is hideously excited; keeps reading quotations aloud ‘I say I bet you didn’t know this came in the Bible 'bring down my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave’’ or merely slapping his side & chortling 'God, isn’t God a shit!’
— 

Evelyn Waugh in a letter to Nancy Mitford (17 October 1944)

‘Randolph’ is Randolph Churchill, son of Winston. 

If I had a girl I should say to her, ‘Marry for love if you can, it won’t last, but it is a very interesting experience and makes a good beginning in life. Later on, when you marry for money, for heaven’s sake let it be big money. There are no other possible reasons for marrying at all.
—  Nancy Mitford, Christmas Pudding
2

Haven’t posted book related stuff in a while.

Nancy Mitford books (Don’t Tell Alfred & Love in a Cold Climate) and the stunningly beautiful Evelyn Waugh (The Loved One) were snatched from the shelves of Hatchard’s, signed copy of A Whole Life by Roberth Seethaler is from London Review of Books. I’ve only started Don’t Tell Alfred so far but I’m looking forward to devouring all of these.  

‘It’s rather sad,’ she said one day, 'to belong as we do, to a lost generation. I’m sure in history the two wars will count as one war and that we shall be squashed out of it altogether, and people will forget that we ever existed. We might just as well never have lived at all, I do think it’s a shame.’


'It may become a sort of literary curiosity,’ Davey said. He sometimes crept, shivering, into the Hons’ cupboard to get up a little circulation before he went back to his writing. 'People will be interested in it for all the wrong reasons, and collect Lalique dressing-table sets and shagreen boxes and cocktail cabinets lined with looking-glass and find them very amusing.’

— 

The Pursuit of Love (1945) - Nancy Mitford

This is so sadly true that it breaks my heart a little.