Bernard Cornwell cytaty

Bernard Cornwell Fotografia
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Bernard Cornwell

Data urodzenia: 23. Luty 1944
Natępne imiona:برنارد کرنول

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Bernard Cornwell – brytyjski pisarz, autor thrillerów i powieści historycznych, mieszkający na stałe w USA.

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Cytaty Bernard Cornwell

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„Defeat the enemy's infantry and the cavalry and gunners had nowhere to hide.“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: "Now we'll see how their infantry fight," Wellesley said savagely to Campbell, and Sharpe understood that this was the real testing point, for infantry was everything. The infantry was despised for it did not have the cavalry's glamour, nor the killing capacity of the gunners, but it was still the infantry that won battles. Defeat the enemy's infantry and the cavalry and gunners had nowhere to hide. Sergeant Richard Sharpe, p. 233

„The redcoats were doing what they did best, what they were paid a shilling a day less stoppages to do: they were killing.“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: They were the despised of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. They were drunks and thieves, the scourings of gutters and jails. They wore the red coat because no one else wanted them, or because they were so desperate that they had no choice. They were the scum of Britain, but they could fight. They had always fought, but in the army, they were told how to fight with discipline. They discovered sergeants and officers who valued them. They punished them too, of course, and swore at them, and cursed them, and whipped their backs bloody, and cursed them again, but valued them. They even loved them, and officers worth five thousand pounds a year were fighting alongside them now. The redcoats were doing what they did best, what they were paid a shilling a day less stoppages to do: they were killing. Narrator, p. 317

„How can you expect obedience from the men when officers are corrupt?“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: My God, I will not abide plundering, especially by officers. How can you expect obedience from the men when officers are corrupt? General Arthur Wellesley, p. 175

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„And he was amazed, as he always was, by the courage of the French. They were being struck hard, yet they stayed.“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: The real noise was of musketry, the pounding cough of volley fire, the relentless noise, and if he listened hard he could hear the balls striking on muskets and pounding into flesh. He could also hear the cries of the wounded and the screams of officers' horses put down by the balls. And he was amazed, as he always was, by the courage of the French. They were being struck hard, yet they stayed. They stayed behind a straggling heap of dead men, they edged aside to let the wounded crawl behind, they reloaded and fired, and all the time the volleys kept coming. Captain Richard Sharpe, p. 300

„Once a thief, always a thief, only now I steal from the enemy.“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: Until two days ago,' she went on suddenly, 'I thought that my life depended on other people. On employers. Now I think it depends on me. You taught me that. But I still need money.' 'Money's easy,' said Sharpe dismissively. 'That is not the conventional wisdom,' Sarah said drily. 'Steal the stuff,' Sharpe said. 'You were really a thief?' 'Still am. Once a thief, always a thief, only now I steal from the enemy. And some day I'll have enough to stop me from doing it and then I'll have to stop others from thieving from me.' 'You have a simple view of life.' 'You're born, you survive, you die,' Sharpe said. 'What's hard about that?

„A soldier's job was to kill. A rifle killed.“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: He was a Major now, the ranks long in his past, yet he still carried the rifle. He had always carried a long-arm into battle; a musket when he was a private, a rifle now he was an officer. He saw no reason not to carry a gun. A soldier's job was to kill. A rifle killed. Major Richard Sharpe, p. 55

„All feared the artillery, coughing its death in fan-like swathes.“

—  Bernard Cornwell
Context: Some feared the cavalry and in their minds they rehearsed the thunder of a thousand hooves, the dust rolling like a sea fog from the charge and shot through with the bright blades that could slice a man's life away or, worse, hook out his eyes and leave him in darkness for life. Others feared musket fire, the lottery of an unaimed bullet coming in the relentless volleys that would fire the dry grass with burning wads and roast the wounded where they fell. All feared the artillery, coughing its death in fan-like swathes. It was best not to think about that. Narrator, p. 63

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