Thursday, July 10, 2014


George Bernard Shaw taking his sun bath cure at Madeira, 1925

In no particular order:

Anything like a holiday is out of the question for me. Must I endure in addition the insults of a publisher for whom I am preparing, with unheard-of toil, a gigantic triumph? Read “Mrs Warren”; and then blush for your impatience if you can.’
(Collected Letters Vol. II Aug 26 1897, to Richards.)

EPIFANIA. When had you last a holiday?
THE WOMAN. Me! A holiday! We cant afford holidays. I had one on Armistice Day, eighteen years ago.
EPIFANIA. Then it cost a world war and the slaughter of twenty millions of your fellow creatures to give you one holiday in your lifetime. I can do better for you than that.
(The Millionairess)

There are twenty-four concerts this week. Consequently I give myself a holiday; for if anyone asks me what I thought of this or that performance, I reply “How can I possibly be in twenty-four places at the same time?
(Music in London as Heard by Corno di Bassetto. 1 March 1889) 

HYPATIA.  At last.  Oh, if I might only have a holiday in an asylum for the dumb.  How I envy the animals!  They cant talk.

There are many more, but I think this is more than enough. We all need a holiday. Enjoy your summer!

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