Duke Of Wellington Quotes

Anyone who clings to the historically untrue—and thoroughly immoral—doctrine that ‘violence never settles anything’ I would advise to conjure up the ghosts of Napoleon Bonaparte and of the Duke of Wellington and let them debate it. The ghost of Hitler could referee, and the jury might well be the Dodo, the Great Auk, and the Passenger Pigeon. Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor, and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and freedoms.

Next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle gained.

In 1819 the proudest man in all of England was, without a doubt, the Duke of Wellington. This was not particularly surprising; when a man has twice defeated the armies of the wicked French Emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, it is only natural that he should have a rather high opinion of himself.

Oh,” said the Duke of Wellington, not much interested, “they are still complaining about that, are they?

The soldier—that is, the great soldier—of to-day is not a romantic animal, dashing at forlorn hopes, animated by frantic sentiment, full of fancies as to a love-lady or a sovereign; but a quiet, grave man, busied in charts, exact in sums, master of the art of tactics, occupied in trivial detail; thinking, as the Duke of Wellington was said to do, most of the shoes of his soldiers; despising all manner of èclat and eloquence; perhaps, like Count Moltke, ‘silent in seven languages’.

The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of Eton.

Sirs, if it were not for that one red spot I would have conquered the world!!!

An extraordinary affair. I gave them their orders and they wanted to stay and discuss them.

Love is indescribable and unconditional. I could tell you a thousand things that it is not, but not one that it is.

My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He was a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs. 'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. They fetch her up. Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' And they chop it off. 'Fetch up Jane Shore,' he says; and up she comes, Next morning, 'Chop off her head'—and they chop it off. 'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' Fair Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' And he made every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book—which was a good name and stated the case. You don't know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck in history. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How does he go at it—give notice?—give the country a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That was his style—he never give anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show up? No—drownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. S'pose people left money laying around where he was—what did he do? He collared it. S'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that he done it—what did he do? He always done the other thing. S'pose he opened his mouth—what then? If he didn't shut it up powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time. That's the kind of a bug Henry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled that town a heap worse than ourn done. I don't say that ourn is lambs, because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't nothing to that old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, and you got to make allowances. Take them all around, they're a mighty ornery lot. It's the way they're raised.

A breakfast recorded by the Duke of Wellington consisted of ‘two pigeons and three beefsteaks, three parts of a bottle of Mozelle, a glass of champagne, two glasses of port and a glass of brandy’ – and this was when he was feeling a little under the weather.

Napoleon’s final nemesis, the Duke of Wellington – that self-appointed epitome of the English grandee – is reputed to have rebuffed a man who called him ‘Irish’, with the withering reply: ‘Just because a man was born in a stable, it does not make him a horse.’ Napoleon

After the Battle of Waterloo, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington—who managed to defeat Napoleon by the skin of his teeth—surveyed the blood-soaked cornfields of Belgium and wrote in a letter, “Nothing except a battle lost can be half as melancholy as a battle won.

17.  According as circumstances are favorable, one should modify one’s plans. [Sun Tzu, as a practical soldier, will have none of the “bookish theoric.” He cautions us here not to pin our faith to abstract principles; “for,” as Chang Yu puts it, “while the main laws of strategy can be stated clearly enough for the benefit of all and sundry, you must be guided by the actions of the enemy in attempting to secure a favorable position in actual warfare.” On the eve of the battle of Waterloo, Lord Uxbridge, commanding the cavalry, went to the Duke of Wellington in order to learn what his plans and calculations were for the morrow, because, as he explained, he might suddenly find himself Commander-in-chief and would be unable to frame new plans in a critical moment. The Duke listened quietly and then said: “Who will attack the first tomorrow—I or Bonaparte?” “Bonaparte,” replied Lord Uxbridge. “Well,” continued the Duke, “Bonaparte has not given me any idea of his projects; and as my plans will depend upon his, how can you expect me to tell you what mine are?”75] 18.  All warfare is based on deception. [The truth of this pithy and profound saying will be admitted by every soldier. Col. Henderson tells us that Wellington, great in so many military qualities, was especially distinguished by “the extraordinary skill with which he concealed his movements and deceived both friend and foe.”] 19. 

You know where the word shrapnel comes from?” “Where?” “An eighteenth-century British guy named Henry Shrapnel.” “Really?” “He was a captain in their artillery for eight years. Then he invented an exploding shell, and they promoted him to major. The Duke of Wellington used the shell in the Peninsular Wars, and at the Battle of Waterloo.

Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards? Confusion, and illusion, and relation, Elusion, and occasion, and evasion?

My rule always was to do the business of the day in the day.

Valor was not a word women typically used, but why not? Why not refer to childbed as a place of valor when a woman was as likely to die there as a soldier in Wellington’s army was likely to die in battle? Why not refer to taking marriage vows, which robbed a woman of her legal personhood, as an act of valor?

It touches me to think that in his declining years he [George IV.] actually thought that he had led one of the charges at Waterloo. He would often describe the whole scene as it appeared to him at that supreme moment, and refer to the Duke of Wellington, saying, "Was it not so, Duke ? " " I have often heard you say so, your Majesty," the old soldier would reply, grimly. I am not sure that the old soldier was at Waterloo himself. In a room full of people he once referred to the battle as having been won upon the playing-fields of Eton. This was certainly a most unfortunate slip, seeing that all historians are agreed that it was fought on a certain field situate a few miles from Brussels.

1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America, Uruguay gained national independence. Japan suffered its

Something the Duke of Wellington once wrote to a nagging War Secretary popped into his head: “My lord, if I attempted to answer the mass of futile correspondence that surrounds me, I should be debarred from all serious business of campaigning.” Then the doughty general had concluded with more asperity than tact: “So long as I retain an independent position, I shall see that no officer under my command is debarred by attending to the futile driveling of mere quill driving in Your Lordship’s office — from attending to his first duty — which is, and always has been, so to train the private men under his command that they may, without question, beat any force opposed to them

All the business of war, and indeed all the business of life, is to endeavour to find out what you don’t know by what you do; that’s what I called ‘guessing what was at the other side of the hill.’” —Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington

By the time the settlers and pioneers of America reached the West Coast, they had gone through many dramatic landscapes, but nothing quite prepared them for the size of the California redwoods. The giant trees led to many disputes, including the very name that should be applied to them. In 1853, British botanists proposed to name the trees Wellingtonia gigantea and called them “Wellingtonias” in honor of the Duke of Wellington, who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo. They justified the name on the grounds that the greatest tree in the world should bear the name of the greatest general in the world. Fortunately, the Americans resisted this choice and supported instead a native American name. Conservationists felt that so great a tree should not be named for a military general. They proposed instead the name Sequoia sempervirens, “evergreen Sequoia,” in honor of the man who invented a way of writing the Cherokee language and worked hard to promote literacy among his people. Both the coastal redwoods and the giant redwoods of the Sierra Nevada bear the genus name Sequoia, in honor of one of the greatest Indian intellectuals and leaders of the nineteenth century.

Tommy’ was used 128 years ago in a War Office guide for a soldier to apply for ‘marching money’ at two and a half pence per mile to cover himself, wife, and child. The Duke of Wellington in 1794 found a Grenadier with a bayonet thrust in the chest, a sabre cut across the head and a bullet in his lungs who gasped, ‘It's all in a day's work, sir.’ His name was Thomas Vera.

he “went under the grass quilt on us.” I may be so far off base as to be out of the ballpark, but with “sinflute and dropped him” I hear an echo of, or at least the meter of, the Duke of Wellington’s order for the last charge at Waterloo, “Up guards and at ‘em!

Sir Edward Grey,” I said, “afterwards our foreign minister, was sent down from Oxford for incorrigible idleness. The Duke of Wellington, I have heard, was both dull and inattentive at his books. And has it ever occurred to you, Miss Griffith, that you would probably not be able to take a good express train to London if little Georgie Stephenson had been out with his youth movement instead of lolling about, bored, in his mother’s kitchen until the curious behaviour of the kettle lid attracted the attention of his idle mind?

At Waterloo [Waterloo] sought to break up the rocket unit, commanded by Major E. C. Whinyates R.A. A staff officer told him 'But that, Your Grace, will break Major Whinyates's heart.' 'Damn his heart, Sir, let my orders be obeyed!

What I am to copy then, it seems, is one such aspect, one of the ways the object is or looks. But not, of course, any one of these at random—not, for example, the Duke of Wellington as he looks to a drunk through a raindrop.

Hello, ladies, I’m your uncle Devlin. Has Westhaven scared you witless with his fuming and fretting?” This fellow looked to be great fun, with a nice smile and kind green eyes. “Mama and Papa didn’t say anything about getting uncles for Christmas,” Amanda observed, but she was smiling back at the big uncle. The biggest uncle—they were all as tall as Papa. “Well, that’s because we’re a surprise,” the other dark-haired fellow said. “I’m your uncle Valentine, and we have an entire gaggle of aunties waiting out in the coach to spoil you rotten. Westhaven here is just out of sorts because Father Christmas gave him a headache for being naughty yesterday.” “I was not naughty.” The other two uncles thought this was quite funny, judging by their smiles. “There’s your problem,” said Uncle Devlin. “I’m thinking it’s a fine day for a pair of ladies to join their aunts for a ride in the traveling coach.” Uncle Gayle—it didn’t seem fair to call him by the same name as Fleur’s puppy—appeared to consider this. “For what purpose?” “To keep the peace. Emmie and I never haul out our big guns around the children,” said Uncle Devlin, which made no sense. “Do you like to play soldiers?” Fleur asked. Amanda appeared intrigued by the notion. She was forever galloping up hills and charging down banisters in pursuit of the French. Uncle Devlin’s brows knitted—he had wonderful dark eyebrows, much like Papa’s. “As a matter of fact, on occasion, if I’ve been an exceedingly good fellow, my daughter lets me join her in a game of soldiers.” “I’m not exactly unfamiliar with the business myself,” said Uncle Valentine. “I excel at the lightning charge and have been known to take even the occasional doll prisoner.” “Missus Wolverhampton would not like being a prisoner,” Fleur said, though Uncle Valentine was teasing—wasn’t he?” “Perhaps you gentlemen can arrange an assignation to play soldiers with our nieces on some other day,” Westhaven said. He sounded like his teeth hurt, which Fleur knew might be from the seasonal hazard of eating too much candy. “You can play too,” Fleur allowed, because it was Christmas, and one ought to be kind to uncles who strayed into one’s nursery. “We’ll let you be Wellington,” Amanda added, getting into the spirit of the day. “Which leaves me to be Blucher’s mercenaries,” Uncle Devlin said, “saving the day as usual.” “Oh, that’s brilliant.” Uncle Valentine wasn’t smiling now. “Leave your baby brother to be the infernal French again, will you? See if I write a waltz for your daughter’s come out, St. Just.” Uncle Gayle wasn’t frowning quite so mightily. In fact, he looked like he wanted to smile but was too grown-up to allow it. “Perhaps you ladies will gather up a few soldiers and fetch a doll or two. We’re going on a short journey to find your mama and papa, so we can all share Christmas with them.” Fleur noticed his slip, and clearly, Amanda had too—but it was the same slip Amanda had made earlier, and one Fleur was perfectly happy to let everybody make. Uncle Gayle had referred to their papa’s new wife not as their stepmama, but as their mama. What a fine thing that would be, if for Christmas they got a mama again for really and truly. Amanda fetched their dolls, Fleur grabbed their favorite storybook, and the uncles herded them from the nursery, all three grown men arguing about whose turn it was to be the blasted French. ***

Shall we help you look for prospects?” Jenny asked. “Kesmore wasn’t a likely prospect, but Louisa is thoroughly besotted with him.” Louisa shot Jenny an excuse-my-poor-daft-sister look. “Kesmore is a grouch, his children are complete hellions, he can hardly dance because of his perishing limp, and the man raises pigs.” “And you adore him,” Jenny reiterated sweetly. “What about that nice Mr. Perrington?” Gentle persistence was Jenny’s forte, one learned at the knee of Her Grace, whose gentle persistence had been known to overcome the objections of Wellington himself. “Mr. Perrington has lost half his teeth, and the other half are not long for his mouth,” Louisa observed as she moved on to the sandwiches. “Thank God he hides behind his hand when he laughs, but it gives him a slightly girlish air. I rather fancy Deene for Evie.” “Deene?” Eve and Jenny gaped in unison. “You fancy Lucas Denning as my husband?” Eve clarified. Louisa sat back, a sandwich poised in her hand. “He’d behave because our brothers would take it amiss were he a disappointing husband. Then too, he’d never do anything to make Their Graces think ill of him, and yet he wouldn’t bring any troublesome in-laws into the bargain. He needs somebody with a fat dowry, and he’s quite competent on the dance floor. He’d leave you alone for the most part. I think you could manage him very well.” Jenny’s lips pursed. “You want a husband you can manage?” Eve answered, feeling a rare sympathy for Louisa, “One hardly wants a husband one can’t manage, does one?” “Suppose not.” Jenny blinked at the tea tray. “You left us one cake each, Lou. Not well done of you.” Louisa turned guileless green eyes on her sister. “You left me only four sandwiches, Jen.” They

Publish and be damned

You must never let the enemy choose the ground on which you fight,’ he told them, echoing the thoughts of the Duke of Wellington, an earlier British general.

The idea of art being lent to a thief seems preposterous, but was brilliantly argued by the British barrister Jeremy Hutchinson, following the 1961 theft of Goya’s Duke of Wellington from the National Gallery in London. The fifty-seven-year-old thief, Kempton Bunton, kept the work in his apartment for four years, then deposited the painting at a checked-luggage office in a Birmingham train station and turned himself in. At his trial, Bunton was acquitted entirely of the painting’s theft. He was, however, charged with stealing the frame, which was never returned, and served three months in jail.

He has already spent more time in jail than the Duke of Wellington and the Mona Lisa thieves combined. The collection’s fate is tragic, says his attorney, but you can’t fault Breitwieser for its destruction.

In 1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America, Uruguay gained national independence. Japan suffered its second

The difference between delirium and insight is only a matter of perspective. —DR. WELLINGTON YUEH, private medical journals

As always, a dozen or so people were gathered about the base of the Duke of Wellington statue. As always, the mounted Duke wore a traffic cone on his head, placed there by—well, someone—despite its daily removal by the police.

Above all it was essential that Peel should still be speaking for the government in the House of Commons where the Duke, as a peer, had no voice. Wellington duly passed Peel’s memo on to the King on 14 January, and the next day the King interviewed all those members of the Cabinet hitherto pledged against Emancipation. In the end King George, with reluctance, agreed to consider the whole question of Ireland.

the Duke of Wellington placed the peace and welfare of that actual United Kingdom above religious scruples and decided that Emancipation was necessary to secure it. The religious scruples included those of the sovereign, swept aside at the end in a masterly way that only Wellington could manage.

A Christian statesmen serving the Ottoman Empire in 1852 would have had a number of reasons to invoke the career of the Duke of Wellington. The recently deceased Wellington was an Anglo-Irish and yet rose from that disadvantaged background to become a military and diplomatic leader defending the British Empire in India and against Napoleon. Representing Britain at the Congress of Vienna, Wellington was conservative in a time of changes and challenges for England and for the European system of politics. Wellington had apparently managed to reconcile the contradictions and challenges of his position and earn a shining reputation in life and in death as a defender of the British Empire. Stephanos Vogorides, the Ottoman Christian statesman who invokes Wellington here, was almost an exact contemporary of his. [...]. He encountered perhaps even more profound challenges than Wellington, struggling to no avail to reconcile his position as an Orthodox Christian serving not the Russian or even Greek state but the Ottoman state, in the midst of the conflicts growing more intense by the day in the early 1850s.

As the Duke of Wellington put it, “No man fears to do that which he knows he does well.

Hard pounding, this, gentlemen. Let’s see who will pound the longest. —THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON, RALLYING HIS TROOPS AT WATERLOO, 1815

As the Duke of Wellington once said (perhaps apocryphally), my attitude was, “Print and be damned.

The wheels of life Stand never idle, but go always round. - To the Duke of Wellington

In 1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America, Uruguay gained national independence. Japan suffered its second-worst natural disaster in 1828, when the Siebold Typhoon killed ten thousand people. On May 26, 1828, in Nuremburg, Germany, a mysterious child named Kaspar Hauser made headlines when he appeared out of nowhere, walking the streets in a daze. In the United States, Andrew Jackson defeated John Quincy Adams in one of the bitterest presidential elections in American history. Jackson's candidacy established a new political party: the Democratic Party.

In 1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America, Uruguay gained national independence. Japan suffered its second-worst natural disaster in 1828, when the Siebold Typhoon killed ten

1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America, Uruguay gained national independence. Japan suffered its second-worst natural disaster in 1828, when the Siebold Typhoon killed ten thousand people. On May 26, 1828, in Nuremburg, Germany, a mysterious child named Kaspar Hauser made headlines when he appeared out of nowhere, walking the streets in a daze. In the United States, Andrew Jackson defeated John Quincy Adams in one of the bitterest presidential elections in American history. Jackson's candidacy established a new political

Preface In 1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America,

Preface In 1828, the Duke of Wellington, hero of Waterloo, became prime minister of the United Kingdom. In South America, Uruguay gained national independence. Japan suffered its second-worst natural disaster in 1828, when the Siebold Typhoon killed ten thousand people. On May

MacCaulay clutches his coat tightly and makes towards the elaborate iron gates of the park. He hurries past Apsley House: one time residence of the ‘hero of a hundred fights’ – the Duke of Wellington. His monument to his own great deeds stands yet in front of the drawing room windows. If he had, in modesty, forgotten his own greatness, he might have looked upon it, and been reminded.