Angela Thirkell
Born on 30 January 1890 in London, Angela Thirkell was educated at St Paul's Girls' School, one of the few specific details the record preserves about her early formation. A citizen of the United Kingdom, she worked in the English language throughout her career as a novelist and writer.
Thirkell was female and British, and the facts establish her as a novelist and writer by occupation. She was born in London and received her schooling at St Paul's Girls' School. Beyond those anchoring details, the record does not elaborate on the sequence of her career or the titles she produced.
She died on 29 January 1961 in Bramley, one day before what would have been her seventy-first birthday. Her death came after a life spent as a novelist and writer working in the English language, with her citizenship of the United Kingdom remaining constant throughout.
The concrete facts that survive in the record place her birth in London in 1890, her education at St Paul's Girls' School, and her death in Bramley in 1961. These coordinates frame the life of a novelist and writer who worked in English and held British citizenship across the first six decades of the twentieth century.
Quotes by Angela Thirkell
Angela Thirkell's insights on:
How is Mrs. Rivers doing?′ asked the agent, a very tall and large man, well-dressed, bald and depressing, with a manner of gliding into his office from a side door without perceptibly moving his feet which had struck terror into many young writers and caused them to accept the lowest terms Mr. Hobb could offer.
The great thing in life is not to be able to do things, because then they are always done for you.
At this moment the headmaster found Master Wesendonck’s tall pile of books slipping from his grasp. He juggled frantically with them for a moment and then, to the infinite joy of the boarders and day boys, they crashed to the ground in all directions. A bevy of form masters rushed forward to the rescue. Master Wesendonck, realising with immense presence of mind that his natural enemies were for once in their proper place, grovelling on the floor, stood still and did nothing.
I suppose everybody has a mental picture of the days of the week, some seeing them as a circle, some as an endless line, and others again, for all I know, as triangles and cubes. Mine is a wavy line proceeding to infinity, dipping to Wednesday which is the colour of old silver dark with polishing and rising again to a pale gold Sunday. This day has a feeling in my picture of warmth and light breezes and sunshine and afternoons that stretch to infinity and mornings full of far-off bells.
Good,’ said Mr Carton. ‘Why children, a loathsome breed who should be kept under hatches or in monasteries till they have acquired some rudiments of manners and consideration for others, should be encouraged to think themselves of importance now, I do not know. The English as a race have always been sentimental about dogs, and draught horses in Italy where most of them have never been, but this wave of sentiment about children is a new and revolting outburst.
Now that,” said Mrs. Morland, up in arms for seeing things straight, “is just rubbish. There isn’t any good or bad taste about what books you read: it’s what you like or don’t like.
The Admiral had the intense pleasure of welcoming Bill and Tubby again as his guests when they returned from a cheerful violation of Norway’s highly un-neutral waters, with their rescued fellow-seamen; and when Mrs. Birkett heard that Bill had had the ocarina with him on that glorious occasion she felt that she had in no small measure contributed to the victory and the rescue and became quite bloated with pride. Two.
