John Betjeman Quotes

Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.

Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.

It's strange that those we miss the most Are those we take for granted.

Now if the harvest is over, And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter, As I lose hold.

History must not be written with bias, and both sides must be given, even if there is only one side.

People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.

I ought to warn you that my verse is of no interest to people who can think.

And I think it was the outline of that church tower at Belaugh against the sky which gave me a passion for churches so that every church I've past since I've wanted to stop and look in.

And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait Because I have a luncheon date.

Topography is one of my chief themes in my poetry, about the country, the suburbs and the seaside. Then there comes love... and increasingly; the fear of death.

I have a Vision of the Future, chum. The workers flats in fields of soya beans tower up like silver pencils, score on score.

A whispering and watery Norfolk sound Telling of all the moonlit reeds around.

Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans. Spare their women for Thy Sake, And if that is not too easy, We will pardon Thy Mistake. But, gracious Lord, whate'er shall be, Don't let anyone bomb me.

Hymns are the poetry of the people.

Imprisoned in a cage of sound, even the trivial seems profound

Lovers of Norfolk churches can never agree which is the best and I think one is either a Salle or a Cawston man.

I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.

I am still reeling with delight at the soaring majesty of Norfolk.

Hymn tunes are the nearest we've got to English folk music.

Old men who never cheated, never doubted, Communicated monthly, sit and stare At the new suburb stretched beyond the run-way Where a young man lands hatless from the air.

Oh! full Surrey twilight! importunate band! Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Lord, reserve for me a crown, And do not let my shares go down.

Oh Wasn't it naughty of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm sick with disgust. She threww me in front of the judges, And my silly old collar-bone's bust.

One mark of good verse is surprise

Approval of what is approved of Is as false as a well-kept vow.

And marbled clouds go scudding byThe many-steepled London sky.