Tristram’s Mother (Elizabeth Shandy, née Mollineux) Quotes in Tristram Shandy
Pray my dear, quoth my mother, have you not forgot to wind up the clock?—Good G–! cried my father, making an exclamation, but taking care to moderate his voice at the same time,—Did ever woman, since the creation of the world, interrupt a man with such a silly question? Pray, what was your father saying?—Nothing.
—My young master in London is dead! said Obadiah.—
—A green sattin night-gown of my mother’s, which had been twice scoured, was the first idea which Obadiah’s exclamation brought into Susannah’s head.—Well might Locke write a chapter upon the imperfections of words.—Then, quoth Susannah, we must all go into mourning.—But note a second time: the word mourning, notwithstanding Susannah made use of it herself—failed also of doing its office; it excited not one single idea, tinged either with grey or black,—all was green.—The green sattin night-gown hung there still.
My father put on his spectacles—looked,—took them off,—put them into the case–all in less than statutable minute; and without opening his lips, turned about, and walked precipitately down stairs: my mother imagined he had stepped down for lint and basilicon; but seeing him return with a couple of folios under his arm, Obadiah following him with a large reading desk, she took it for granted ’twas an herbal, and so drew him a chair to the bed side, that he might consult upon the case at his ease.
—If it be but right done,—said my father, turning to the Section—de sede vel subjecto circumsionis,—for he had brought up Spencer de Legibus Herbraeorum Ritualibus—and Maimonides, in order to confront and examine us altogether.—
—If it be but right done, quote he:—Only tell us, cried my mother, interrupting him, what herbs.—For that, replied my father, you must send for Dr. Slop.
Tristram’s Mother (Elizabeth Shandy, née Mollineux) Quotes in Tristram Shandy
Pray my dear, quoth my mother, have you not forgot to wind up the clock?—Good G–! cried my father, making an exclamation, but taking care to moderate his voice at the same time,—Did ever woman, since the creation of the world, interrupt a man with such a silly question? Pray, what was your father saying?—Nothing.
—My young master in London is dead! said Obadiah.—
—A green sattin night-gown of my mother’s, which had been twice scoured, was the first idea which Obadiah’s exclamation brought into Susannah’s head.—Well might Locke write a chapter upon the imperfections of words.—Then, quoth Susannah, we must all go into mourning.—But note a second time: the word mourning, notwithstanding Susannah made use of it herself—failed also of doing its office; it excited not one single idea, tinged either with grey or black,—all was green.—The green sattin night-gown hung there still.
My father put on his spectacles—looked,—took them off,—put them into the case–all in less than statutable minute; and without opening his lips, turned about, and walked precipitately down stairs: my mother imagined he had stepped down for lint and basilicon; but seeing him return with a couple of folios under his arm, Obadiah following him with a large reading desk, she took it for granted ’twas an herbal, and so drew him a chair to the bed side, that he might consult upon the case at his ease.
—If it be but right done,—said my father, turning to the Section—de sede vel subjecto circumsionis,—for he had brought up Spencer de Legibus Herbraeorum Ritualibus—and Maimonides, in order to confront and examine us altogether.—
—If it be but right done, quote he:—Only tell us, cried my mother, interrupting him, what herbs.—For that, replied my father, you must send for Dr. Slop.
