Gilbert Keith Chesterton

(29 May 1874 – 14 June 1936 / London, England)

Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Gilbert Keith Chesterton was an English writer. He published works on philosophy, ontology, poetry, plays, journalism, public lectures and debates, literary and art criticism, biography, Christian apologetics, and fiction, including fantasy and detective fiction. Chesterton has been called the "prince of paradox". Time magazine, in a review of a biography of Chesterton, observed of his writing style: "Whenever possible Chesterton made his points with popular sayings, proverbs, allegories—first carefully turning them inside out." For example, Chesterton wrote "Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly... more »

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Quotations

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  • ''The vulgar man is always the most distinguished, for the very desire to be distinguished is vulgar.''
    Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936), British author. "The Boy," All Things Considered (1908).
  • ''If prosperity is regarded as the reward of virtue it will be regarded as the symptom of virtue.''
    Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936), British author. "The Book of Job," G.K.C. as M.C. (1929).
  • ''A cosmic philosophy is not constructed to fit a man; a cosmic philosophy is constructed to fit a cosmos. A man can no more possess a private religion than he can possess a private sun and moon.''
    Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936), British author. "The Book of Job," G.K.C. as M.C. (1929).
  • ''Half a truth is better than no politics.''
    Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936), British author. "The Boy," All Things Considered (1908).
  • ''The poor have sometimes objected to being governed badly; the rich have always objected to being governed at all.''
    Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936), British author. Ratcliffe, in The Man Who Was Thursday, ch. 11 (1908).
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Best Poem of Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Last Hero

The wind blew out from Bergen from the dawning to the day,
There was a wreck of trees and fall of towers a score of miles away,
And drifted like a livid leaf I go before its tide,
Spewed out of house and stable, beggared of flag and bride.
The heavens are bowed about my head, shouting like seraph wars,
With rains that might put out the sun and clean the sky of stars,
Rains like the fall of ruined seas from secret worlds above,
The roaring of the rains of God none but the lonely love.
Feast in my hall, O foemen, and eat and drink and drain,
You never loved the sun in...

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