a sea of radiance

“The drawing room curtains at Windy Corner had been pulled to meet, for
the carpet was new and deserved protection from the August sun. They
were heavy curtains, reaching almost to the ground, and the light that
filtered through them was subdued and varied. A poet—none was
present—might have quoted ‘Life like a dome of many coloured glass,’ or
might have compared the curtains to sluice-gates, lowered against the
intolerable tides of heaven. Without was poured a sea of radiance;
within, the glory, though visible, was tempered to the capacities of
man.”

—E.M. Forster, A Room with a View, 1911.

oh, that cerise frock

“Though she was hopeless about pictures, and though she dressed so
unevenly—oh, that cerise frock yesterday at church!—she must see some
beauty in life, or she could not play the piano as she did.”

—E.M. Forster, A Room with a View, 1911.

there is only one perfect view

“‘My father . . . says that there is only one perfect view—the view of
the sky straight over our heads, and that all these views on earth are
but bungled copies of it.’
    ‘I expect your father has been reading Dante,’ said Cecil. . . .”

—E.M. Forster, A Room with a View, 1911.

the blueness of the cheese

“‘[I]f you are interested in life it never lets you down. I am
interested in the blueness of the cheese. You don’t do crosswords, do
you, Mr Wormold? I do, and they are like people: one reaches an end. I
can finish any crossword within an hour, but I have a discovery
concerned with the blueness of cheese that will never come to a
conclusion—although of course one dreams that perhaps a time might come
. . . One day I must show you my laboratory.’”

—Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana, 1958.

Your code number is 59200 stroke 5

“‘Your code number is 59200 stroke 5.’ He added with pride, ‘Of course
I am 59200. You’ll number your sub-agents 59200 stroke 5 stroke 1 and
so on. Got the idea?’”

—Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana, 1958.

there’s no pick and choose with a bue-plate

“‘There’ll be wine, won’t there?’
    ‘Look at the table.’ Small individual milk-bottles
stood by every place. ‘Didn’t you read your invitiation? An American
blue-plate lunch in honour of our great American allies.’
    ‘Blue-plate?‘
    ‘Surely you know what a blue-plate is, man? They
shove the whole meal at you under your nose, already dished up on your
plate—roast turkey, cranberry sauce, sausages and carrots and French
fried. I can’t bear French fried, but there’s no pick and choose with a
bue-plate.’
    ‘No pick and choose?’
    ‘You eat what you’re given. That’s democracy, man.’”

—Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana, 1958.