Quotes by Dorothy L. Sayers

Its disquieting to reflect that ones dreams never symbolize ones real wishes, but always something Much Worse... If I really wanted to be passionately embraced by Peter, I should dream of dentists or gardening. I wonder what unspeakable depths of awfulness can only be expressed by the polite symbol of Peters embraces?

What we ask is to be human individuals, however peculiar and unexpected. It is no good saying: You are a little girl and therefore you ought to like dolls; if the answer is, But I dont, there is no more to be said.

Miss Climpson, said Lord Peter, is a manifestation of the wasteful way in which this country is run. Look at electricity, Look at water-power. Look at the tides. Look at the sun. Millions of power units being given off into space every minute. Thousands of old maids, simply bursting with useful energy, forced by our stupid social system into hydros and hotels and communities and hostels and posts as companions, where their magnificent gossip-powers and units of inquisitiveness are allowed to dissipate themselves or even become harmful to the community, while the ratepayers money is spent on getting work for which these women are providentially fitted, inefficiently carried out by ill-equipped policemen like you.

Wherever you find a great man, you will find a great mother or a great wife standing behind him -- or so they used to say. It would be interesting to know how many great women have had great fathers and husbands behind them.

In reaction against the age-old slogan, woman is the weaker vessel, or the still more offensive, woman is a divine creature, we have, I think, allowed ourselves to drift into asserting that a woman is as good as a man, without always pausing to think what exactly we mean by that. What, I feel, we ought to mean is something so obvious that it is apt to escape attention altogether, viz: (...) that a woman is just as much an ordinary human being as a man, with the same individual preferences, and with just as much right to the tastes and preferences of an individual. What is repugnant to every human being is to be reckoned always as a member of a class and not as an individual person.

The rule seemed to be that a great woman must either die unwed ... or find a still greater man to marry her. ... The great man, on the other hand, could marry where he liked, not being restricted to great women; indeed, it was often found sweet and commendable in him to choose a woman of no sort of greatness at all.

In fact, there is perhaps only one human being in a thousand who is passionately interested in his job for the jobs sake. The difference is that if that one person in a thousand is a man, we say, simply, that he is passionately keen on his job; if she is a woman, we say she is a freak.

[W]hen I see men callously and cheerfully denying women the full use of their bodies, while insisting with sobs and howls on the satisfaction of their own, I simply cant find it heroic, or kind, or anything but pretty rotten and feeble.

Time and trouble will tame an advanced young woman, but an advanced old woman is uncontrollable by any earthly force.

[T]he more clamour we make about the womens point of view, the more we rub it into people that the womens point of view is different, and frankly I do not think it is -- at least in my job. The line I always want to take is, that there is the point of view of the reasonably enlightened human brain, and that this is the aspect of the matter which I am best fitted to uphold.

Whatll Geoffrey do when you pull off your First, my child? demanded Miss Ha

It is arguable that when Humanists, Shook off, as people say, the trammels of religion, and discovered things of this world as objects of veneration in their own right... they began to lose the finer appreciation of even the world itself. Thus to the Christian centuries, the flesh was holy (or sacer at least in one sense or the other), and they veiled its awful majesty; to the Humanist centuries it was divine in its own right, and they exhibited it. Now it is the commonplace of the magazine cover. It has lost its numen. So too with the cult of knowledge for its own sake declining from the Revival of Learning to the Brains Trust.

That this is really the case was made plain to me by the questions asked me, mostly by young men, about my Canterbury play, The Zeal of Thy House. The action of the play involves a dramatic presentation of a few fundamental Christian dogmas— in particular, the application to human affairs of the doctrine of the Incarnation. That the Church believed Christ to be in any real sense God, or that the eternal word was supposed to be associated in any way with the word of creation; that Christ was held to be at the same time man in any real sense of the word; that the doctrine of the Trinity could be considered to have any relation to fact or any bearing on psychological truth; that the Church considered pride to be sinful, or indeed took notice of any sin beyond the more disreputable sins of the flesh—all these things were looked upon as astonishing and revolutionary novelties, imported into the faith by the feverish imagination of a playwright. I protested in vain against this flattering tribute to my powers of invention, referring my inquirers to the creeds, to the gospels, and to the offices of the Church; I insisted that if my play were dramatic it was so, not in spite of the dogma, but because of it—that, in short, the dogma was the drama. The explanation was, however, not well received; it was felt that if there were anything attractive in Christian philosophy I must have put it there myself.

It will be sent that, although the writers love is verily a jealous love, it is a jealousy for and not of his creatures. He will tolerate no interference either with them or between them and himself.

That a work of creation struggles and insistently demands to be brought into being is a fact that no genuine artist would think of denying.

A marriage of two independent and equally irritable intelligences seems to me reckless to the point of insanity.

I sleuth, you know. For a hobby. Harmless outlet for natural inquisitiveness, dont you see, which might otherwise strike inward and produce introspection an suicide. Very natural, healthy pursuit -- not too strenuous, not too sedentary; trains and invigorates the mind.

I suppose one oughtn’t to marry anybody, unless one’s prepared to make him a full-time job.”“Probably not; though there are a few rare people, I believe, who don’t look on themselves as jobs but as fellow creatures.

Oh, well, faint heart never won so much as a scrap of paper

Youd think (losing his job and degree for having made false claims as a researcher) would be a lesson to him, said Miss Hillyard. It didnt pay, did it? Say he sacrificed his professional honour for the women and children we hear so much about -- but in the end it left him worse of.But that, said Peter, was only because he committed the extra sin of being found out.