John Betjeman

And marbled clouds go scudding by

— John Betjeman

The test of an abstract picture, for me, is not my first reaction to it, but how long I can stand it hanging on the wall of a room where I am living.

— John Betjeman

It was through looking at churches that I came to believe in the reason churches were built.

— John Betjeman

History must not be written with bias, and both sides must be given, even if there is only one side.

— John Betjeman

Hymns are the poetry of the people.

— John Betjeman

Hymn tunes are the nearest we've got to English folk music.

— John Betjeman

There are two things you need for a jolly good hymn. The first is a set of words that expresses the mood or sentiment of the worshipper. The second—and perhaps even more important—is a good tune … with a simple popular melody.

— John Betjeman

Topography is one of my chief themes in my poetry...about the country, the suburbs and the seaside...then there comes love...and increasingly, the fear of death.

— John Betjeman

Ghastly Good Taste, or a Depressing Story of the Rise and Fall of English Architecture.

— John Betjeman

Saint Pancras was a fourteen-year old Christian boy who was martyred in Rome in AD 304 by the Emperor Diocletian. In England he is better known as a railway station.

— John Betjeman

Yes, I haven't had enough sex.

— John Betjeman

Sing on, with hymns uproarious,He has restored the roof!

— John Betjeman

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough!Swarm over, Death!

— John Betjeman

He sipped at a weak hock and seltzerOr was it his bees-winged eyes?

— John Betjeman

Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans.Don't let anyone bomb me.

— John Betjeman

He would have liked to say goodbye,I only see decay.

— John Betjeman

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,We in the tournament — you against me!

— John Betjeman

We sat in the car park till twenty to oneAnd now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

— John Betjeman

Stony seaboard, far and foreign,Stones in every fertile place.

— John Betjeman

Oh shall I see the Thames again?And lightly skims the midge.

— John Betjeman

No hope. And the X-ray photographs under his armIts chimneys steady against the mackerel sky.

— John Betjeman

And behind their frail partitionsTrolley-bus and windy street!

— John Betjeman

But I'm dying now and done for,I am ill and old and terrified and tight.

— John Betjeman

In the licorice fields at Pontefract

— John Betjeman

It's strange that those we miss the mostAre those we take for granted.

— John Betjeman

I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.

— John Betjeman