Fleet Of Berties


“I’m so glad there are no homosexuals in this company. The other lot from the Anthony and Cleopatra play were an absolute fleet of berties.”

– Edward Fox

See other: Hall of Fame Posts

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Author’s note: Homosexuality, bisexuality, transgender and heterosexuality are treated with the same kind of respect within the confines of this blog. This quote is meant to illustrate Edward Fox’s odd yet hilarious use of the comic phrase ‘fleet of berties’. This post only celebrates Fox’s contribution to the beautiful diversity of the English language. It is in no way meant to ridicule, mock, or insult any individual in any possible way. If anyone were to take offence – which of course you are free to do – please direct your frustration towards the person responsible for the quote, and always provide constructive criticism, because this post has not been published with any intolerance or disrespect in mind.

A Salute To Unknown Last Words


“I’ve seen this done on television.”

“These are the good kind of mushrooms.”

“I’ll hold it and you light the fuse.”

“Let it down slowly.”

“It’s strong enough for both of us.”

“That’s odd.”

“Now watch this.”

“Look! What’s that bear cub doing alone in the forest?”

“Awfully quick to drill the ice when it’s this thin.”

See other: A Salute To …

More Than A Means Of Communication


“Language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my checkout-girl. Language is a complementary moist lemon-scented cleansing squire or handy freshen up towelette. Language is the breath of God. Language is the dew on a fresh apple. It’s the soft rain of dust that falls over a shaft of morning light as you pluck from an old bookshelf; a half forgotten book of erotic memoires. Language is the creak on a stair. It’s a spluttering match held to a frosted pain. It’s a half remembered childhood birthday party. It’s the warm wet trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred panzer, the underside of a granite bolder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl. It’s cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.”

– Stephen Fry