Freya Stark
Freya Stark
Dame Freya Madeline Stark, Mrs Perowne, DBEwas a British explorer and travel writer. She wrote more than two dozen books on her travels in the Middle East and Afghanistan, as well as several autobiographical works and essays. She was one of the first non-Arabians to travel through the southern Arabian Deserts...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionMemoirist
Date of Birth31 January 1893
CityParis, France
peace produce frontiers
every frontier is doomed to produce an opposition beyond it. Nothing short of the universal can build the unfenced peace.
depressing art evil
It is not badness, it is the absence of goodness, which, in Art as in Life, is so depressing.
tree magic sap
We were not for underestimating magic - a life-conductor like the sap between the tree-stem and the bark. We know that it keeps dullness out of religion and poetry. It is probable that without it we might die.
coins way easy
Conventions are like coins, an easy way of dealing with the commerce of relations.
silly animal house
The camel is an ugly animal, seen from above. Its shoulders slope formless like a sack, its silly little ears and fluff of bleached curls behind them have a respectable, boarding-house look, like some faded neatness that dresses for propriety but never dressed for love.
christmas home heart
Christmas, in fact, is not an external event at all, but a piece of one's home that one carries in one's heart: like a nursery story, its validity rests on exact repetition, so that it comes around every time as the evocation of one's whole life and particularly of the most distant bits of it in childhood.
fashion art garden
The language of salesmanship was no doubt born with the first fashions in fig leaves in the garden of Eden. A strange concept has grown around it: if something is to be sold, inaccuracy is not immoral. Hence the art of advertisement - untruthfulness combined with repetition.
life-is allowance
One life is an absurdly small allowance.
land unhappy substance
The symbol is greater than visible substance. . . . Unhappy the land that has no symbols, or that chooses their meaning without great care.