Английский с улыбкой. Охотничьи рассказы / Tales of the Long Bow

He turned towards the valley and raised his hand with a gesture, almost as if the hand was holding a sword.
“I am going to break the Prophecy,” he cried in a loud voice. “I am going to make fun of my evil star. Those who called me a failure will admit I have succeeded where all humanity has failed. The real hero is not he who is bold enough to fulfil the predictions, but he who is bold enough to make them false. And you will see how it happens tonight.”

The moment men like you see a man sitting by a river, they just have to ask him what he has caught. But when you go off to hunt for big animals in Africa, nobody asks you what you have caught. Nobody expects you to bring home a hippopotamus for supper. Nobody has ever seen you walking up Pall Mall, followed respectfully by a giraffe you captured. Personally, I doubt that you ever catch anything. It’s all hidden in desert sand and doubt and distance. But what I hunt for is something much more hard to catch, and as slippery as any fish. It is the soul of England

“You must remember,” she replied, “that I have known very many people who did decide to be original. Any Art School is full of them; and there are any number among those socialist and vegetarian friends of mine you were talking about. It would be no problem for them to wear cabbages on their heads, of course. Any one of them would be capable of getting inside a pumpkin if he could. Any one of them might appear in public dressed entirely in salad leaves. But that’s just it. They go with the stream. They do those things because those things are done; because they are done in their own Bohemian society. Unconventionality is their convention. I don’t mind it myself; I think it’s great fun; but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know real strength or independence when I see it. All that is just formless; but the really strong man is one who can create a convention and then break it. When a man like you can suddenly do a thing like that, after twenty years of habit, for the sake of his word, then somehow you really feel that man is a man and master of his fate.”

But I accepted it as a challenge in the same pedantic sort of way. It wasn’t possible to eat any hat that I wore. But it could be possible to wear a hat that I could eat.

This world in which he himself wore pieces of green cabbage and in which his old friend the lawyer got married suddenly like a man going mad – this world was a new world, at once fresh and frightening, in which he could hardly understand the figures that were walking about, even his own.