Richard Llewellyn
Richard Llewellyn
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Full Name and Common Aliases
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Richard Llewellyn was born David Richard Llewelyn Davies on 30 August 1906 in London, England, to a Welsh family. He is often referred to by his pen name or the surname of his mother's family.
Birth and Death Dates
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Born: 30 August 1906, London, England
Died: 25 August 1983, London, England
Nationality and Profession(s)
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Richard Llewellyn was a Welsh novelist, playwright, and screenwriter of English descent. His nationality is often debated due to his mixed heritage.
Early Life and Background
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Llewellyn's early life was marked by tragedy when he lost his father at the age of two. This event had a profound impact on him, shaping his writing style and influencing many of his works. He grew up in London with his mother, who encouraged his love for literature from an early age.
Major Accomplishments
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Llewellyn's most significant achievement is his novel "How Green Was My Valley," which won the 1940 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and was later adapted into a film by John Ford. The book has since become a classic of Welsh literature, celebrated for its poignant portrayal of life in a coal-mining valley.
Notable Works or Actions
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"How Green Was My Valley" (1939) - A novel that won the Pulitzer Prize and was adapted into an Academy Award-winning film.
"The Last Valley" (1942) - A historical novel set during the Thirty Years' War.
* "Up into the Sun" (1953) - A novel about a young Welshman's journey to Australia.
Impact and Legacy
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Richard Llewellyn's writing has had a lasting impact on Welsh literature, offering a unique perspective on the country's history and culture. His works have been translated into numerous languages, making him one of Wales' most celebrated authors internationally.
Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered
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Llewellyn is remembered for his poignant and evocative writing style, which has captivated readers worldwide. His exploration of themes such as identity, family, and the human condition continues to resonate with audiences today.
Quotes by Richard Llewellyn
But to talk of the world that is hidden in every woman is a journey of pain, for the words are not in use to tell of it, and to use the words that are is only a hopping on uneven crutches.
So I went to bed, full, happy, and caring nothing for all the hurt of all the englished Welshmen that ever festered upon a proud land.
There is a fool you feel when somebody is saying they are sorry for doing something to you. It is worse than if you had done something yourself. So you are having the worst of it twice, start and finish.
And I wanted to be as I had been yesterday, a boy again, without the heaviness of doubt, this pressing fear, this new treachery that lifted to realms of singing gold, and in a little space, flung to pits of night.
It is strange that the mind will forget so much, and yet hold a picture of flowers that have been dead for thirty years or more...
Well,” my mother said, and she was not exactly smiling, but as though she was wrapping a smile inside a thought.
So with Dr. Johnson and John Stuart Mill, and Spencer, and William Shakespeare, and Chaucer, and Milton, and John Bunyan, and others of that royal company of bards, thanks to my father and Mr. Gruffydd, I was acquainted, more than plenty of other boys, and thus had a lasting benefit in school.
In dignity and harmony, in rich beauty rose their voices now employed in noble purpose. Glorious is the Voice of Man, and sweet is the music of the harp.
Everywhere was singing, all over the house was singing, and outside the house was alive with singing, and the very air was song.