Friday, 12 June 2026

Mingling with Colombia's killers

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

'You know, I'm a paraco now.'

That's what a 25-year-old acquaintance, let's call him Juan — not his real name — told me when I was reunited with him in March of this year in Santandercito, the barrio in the far north of Bogotá in which I normally reside whenever I'm in Colombia's capital.

Image shows the letters AGC, the initials for Colombia's largest paramilitary group, painted on the wall of a barrio building.
AGC presente: Autodefensas Gaitanistas de Colombia, aka Clan del Golfo, is Colombia's largest paramilitary group. 

Pawn of the paracos

Juan offered this information to me after I told him that I'd just spent the last few months in San Martín, Meta, an area said to be largely controlled by paracos.

These paracos, Colombia's paramilitaries, originally came into being in the 1960s as a counterpoint to the guerrillas. Both groups can trace their origins to left versus right political ideologies, nominally at least, but today they're all just effectively gangland criminals vying to control the cocaine trade and other illegal activities.

Just over eight weeks after Juan — whom I'd known since 2016 when he was a happy-go-lucky teenager — told me of his employment, he was shot dead. It was a planned hit. Loved ones left behind include an inconsolable mother, a shattered stepfather, and heartbroken brothers, people with whom I have shared many enjoyable moments in Santandercito over the last ten years.

Neither Juan's telling me that he was a paraco nor his tragic demise surprised me much, however.

I'd suspected for the last few years that he was involved in dodgy dealings of some sort.

In fact, he and another young man and friend-of-sorts of mine from the barrio, a guy I'll call José — again, not his real name — were sent away for a few months to a paraco training camp in the Antioquia department some time back. So the story goes. I did ask both of them, separately, to divulge a little more information about this camp, but it was never forthcoming. Although José didn't completely rule out doing so. I stopped asking after a while, though.

'A paraco he may have been, but he was no more than a pawn for greater powers. He was certainly no capo dei capi, that much is now clear.'

On their return to Barrio Santandercito, I noticed Juan's behaviour change. A harder, meaner edge came to replace the cheerfulness he had previously displayed in abundance. José, in contrast, has remained largely easygoing. He is that way towards me anyway.

Juan began to give off an air of invincibility. The way he strutted around the barrio was as if he thought he were a feared mafia boss. Now, a paraco he may have been, but he was no more than a pawn for greater powers. He was certainly no capo dei capi, that much is now clear.

In a journal entry the day after Juan told me of his paraco status, I noted that ill winds could soon be blowing his way, owing to his cocky behaviour. Only those truly in control could get away with such posturing. But even the bigwigs are brought back down to size at some stage.

Those ill winds did blow Juan's way. And with fatal force.

José was with Juan on the night he was shot dead, Friday 29 May, on a footpath on Calle 188 with Carrera 16, in the Verbenal barrio of Bogotá, just a few blocks away from Santandercito. José wasn't harmed, not physically anyway.

Mowing down Mauricio

On the day of Juan's burial, I was told by a somewhat reliable source in Santandercito that both Juan and José were the ones sent to kill another acquaintance of mine in this part of Bogotá, the affable Mauricio, a man who ran a number of tienda bars in Verbenal. Mauricio was murdered in April 2025.

His crime, so it goes, was to sell cocaine, which he got from his own sources. That is to say, he didn't get his white powder from the gang that is said to control the underworld in the greater Verbenal area.

My Santandercito source told me that Juan, recognised as a talented motorbike operator, rode the bike used to take José to Mauricio. José, as the better marksman, fired the weapon. That's the conjecture doing the rounds in the barrio. We'll probably never know for sure. And it's something I'm not too keen to ask José about, not directly anyway.

The cost of crime

Over the last few years, I had heard that José regularly got on the wrong side of some of his superiors. At one stage, he was apparently forbidden from entering Santandercito. If somebody had said to me two years ago that just one of either Juan or José would be soon gunned down, I would have thought that José would face that fate. Although, as I mentioned, Juan's behaviour in recent months would have led me to change my thinking.

Seeing as how José was with Juan on the night of his murder, in a location seen as close to ideal to carry out such a hit, there is speculation that José had some part to play in it. That he sold out his partner in crime to protect himself. Again, it's all hearsay.

The chances of us ever finding out exactly what happened on the night Juan was gunned down are slim.

It's unlikely there'll be any thorough investigation carried out. The general approach by Colombia's authorities when it comes to gangland murders is that as long as they're killing each other, then it's not a major concern. That's how it appears, anyway. 'Let them knock themselves out.'

The old adage that crime doesn't pay was certainly the case for Juan. The ones who do make big bucks out of criminality in Colombia tend not to get their hands bloodied and are fairly well protected. The paraco pawns, on the other hand, are very much dispensable.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

Thursday, 4 June 2026

Captivated by Colombia's magical (sur)realism

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

'So, what do you do?'

It is one of the most popular break-the-ice questions adults get asked. We tend to be, after all, defined by our careers. And for many people, replying to such an enquiry is fairly straightforward. Others, myself included, find it more difficult, nay uncomfortable, to answer.

Image shows Brendan Corrigan in costume as the character Padrón from the series Los 39.
Colombia: Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
I do, of course, do various things, but the often unstated ending part to the what-do-you-do question is 'to make a living'. In other words, what is it you do that provides you with an income, allowing you to socialise and travel and whatnot? These days, the most accurate, succinct retort I can give is, somewhat shamefully, 'practically nothing'. Or, somewhat more positively, if misleading, 'I'm in early retirement.'

All an act

This is not to say that I haven't earned money from services rendered of late, yet the truth is that the amount in question, specifically over the last two years, is barely worth mentioning. The bulk of the paid work during that period came from acting projects, but I certainly can't call myself an actor.

Well, I can call myself an actor — I have acted, for payment, in multiple productions, after all — but to say that acting is what I do, that it's my career, would be a bit disingenuous.

Calling myself an actor would be like a guy who plays five-a-side football with his mates a few times a year calling himself a footballer.

Now, I may have thespian talent — I guess the audience, viewers and, more importantly, casting directors, production companies, and critics would be the judge of that — but I'm not exactly going out of my way to look for the leading role.

'I calculate that I may, with some luck along the way, reach the Google AdSense payment threshold of 70 euros by the year 2036.'

My acting career, if you allow me to call it thus for the moment, has been less active and more passive. I've been very much following the don't-call-us-we'll-call-you approach. I'm not too sure who I should call, in any case, in a bid to advance. Hollywood, you know where to find me.

Blogging, writing if you will, is another one of my pursuits that technically has been earning me money, and on a more regular basis than acting. However, I calculate that I may, with some luck along the way, reach the Google AdSense payment threshold of 70 euros by the year 2036. That's if the payment threshold doesn't increase. Exciting, if nervous, times ahead.

Much ado about doing nothing

So, effectively, I haven't really done much to earn money throughout these past two years. What I have been doing is keeping my costs down, largely thanks to house-sitting for a good portion of 2025 and a small part of 2024; rent, after all, is usually my biggest monthly expense. I've also been practising fairly minimalist living, something that I've become pretty adept at during my time in Colombia.

I do have savings, too, steadily decreasing as they are, yet enough, in a Colombian-peso context, where I don't have to go smashing that glass that should only be broken during an emergency. I haven't yet been forced to accept any old type of gainful employment merely to make ends meet. I still have some wriggle room.

It's this avoidance of the rat race, of being compelled to march full-time to somebody else's beat, that's one of the main reasons keeping me in Colombia.

I've been able to live a more independent life here compared to what I most likely would have to live in a high-income nation. Indeed, at times it feels a little surreal, although this isn't always in a positive sense. Nonetheless, as much as I am concerned about my future, I can't say it unduly stresses me out. But maybe I'm being a bit too sanguine about my current lot.

After all, this independence, my minimalist version of it anyway, does come at a price, as I explained on these pages back in 2021.

And to state what should be obvious, my present approach is unsustainable. I can't continue to spend more than I earn, unless I die inside a couple of years or so. Or win the lottery that I never play.

So, what do I do? I'll have to conjure up something soon to justify my continued presence in Colombia's magical (sur)realism.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

Thursday, 14 May 2026

A surprising side to Bogotá's boisterous Barrio Santandercito

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

Of all the ways I could describe — and have described — my preferred Bogotá barrio, Santandercito, quiet is not the first word that comes to mind.

A rooftop view of Carrera 16, the main entrance into the northern Bogotá barrio of Santandercito.
Silent Santandercito: Well, not quite. But it does have a quieter side.
Boisterous and bustling. Yes. Tame and tranquil. No. It is, after all, a small and rather densely populated sector of a massive metropolis in a country where the locals' overall attitude to excessive noise levels appears indifferent at best, welcoming at worst.

When an individual or group in a private dwelling decides to listen to an arrangement of noises that, amongst some cohorts, is considered music and therefore enjoyable, this tends to come with a belief that the whole barrio wants to hear it. Thus, it is played to eardrum-damaging levels. One might see it as deadbeats banging out ludicrously loud beats, but I wouldn't go that far.

Now, as a somewhat sheltered cul-de-sac barrio, Santandercito is spared the regular roars from passing vehicular traffic. Yet, the motor vehicles that do enter its environs frequently do their best to make up for this absence. Exhaust sounds that range from booming to screeching are heard more frequently than one would like — which, admittedly, is never. Indeed, I can't understand how anyone tolerates such a racket.

'Experience of similar terrain and raucous raiders told me to prepare myself for something akin to Russia's current war against Ukraine. A stalemate.'

A tad more tolerable are the occasional wandering salespeople and scrap-metal collectors who ensure they are heard well before they are seen, thanks to the pumping out of a recording describing their services, usually supplemented with some cheesy tunes. At least these guys are working.

With such cacophonies, finding a quiet corner in the barrio is next to impossible. The single-course, hollow-brick walls in these parts are, after all, thin. Sounds tend to run through them with impunity. The same goes for the single-glazed, generously permeable windows.

Cacophony conflict

So it was with some trepidation that I willingly put myself into direct conflict with all this barrio noise. Before combat, my fanciful hopes were that it might be like the Anglo-Zanzibar War of 1896 — a 38-minute affair — with me victorious, of course. After all, I had been reconnoitring the battle zone weeks in advance and figured I could sweep to success. Yet, previous experience of similar terrain and raucous raiders told me to prepare myself for something akin to Russia's current war against Ukraine. A protracted stalemate.

As it transpired, it was practically a rout. Well, it wasn't quite as swift as the Brits in Zanzibar; it was about three times as long, but I simply couldn't complete my objective any sooner.

Advanced planning told me that Operation Record Quotes and Notes on James Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson would need to be tackled from three fronts, a trio of attacks that would last, in the best-case scenario, roughly 30 minutes each. Quite amazingly, it went more or less to plan. The audio-blog-recording battlefield provided very little resistance in terms of a dreaded, damaging noise assault.

Yes, to my pleasant surprise, the room I occupy in my current abode proved to be a dependable recording studio for a project with close to two hours of script. I had been expecting constant interruptions from all the aforementioned noises. In San Martín, for example, just to record a mere five-minute audio blog, I regularly needed double that time.

Silent surprise

So how is it that this spot in a regularly boisterous barrio is something of a serene sanctuary?

It certainly helps that it's a room on the second floor (first floor for the Brits and Irish) of an apartment that is isolated from the main street.

However, it's not completely closed off from the outside. It has windows, my room included, looking out onto the open square space that is a common feature in Colombian apartment buildings.

This space, about two square metres in size, is for service pipes and suchlike, apparently. It often doubles up as a rubbish-collection spot, too. Various items that escape from the windows of the apartments above find a resting place on the plastic roof covering the first floor — or ground floor, if you prefer.

'It is a lively and regularly noisy spot, but this noise doesn't seem to be as pervasive as I had previously thought.'

Despite that, I'm glad of the space because it lets natural light into my room. I couldn't stay for any length of time in a room that gets no natural light. I find such rooms utterly depressing. Incredulously, some Colombians seem to prefer them.

Anyway, these welcome light-giving windows provide no real barrier to sound.

So that I managed to record in relative silence — a small bit of background noise doesn't tend to be picked up by my microphone — is rather surprising.

To repeat, the apartment's setting is a help. The barrio noises clearly don't travel as easily as I had thought or expected them to. I was also lucky with my timing.

On the three occasions that I recorded these lengthy scripts, the neighbours on the floor above were silent. This isn't a rarity, but it's not that usual either. Oftentimes, they're listening to Christian music at levels that are a little too high for my liking. Perhaps they're trying to send me a message? The good Lord is, literally, speaking to me from above.

Excessive dog barking, from both within the building and outside, was also absent during my recording sessions. Again, quite unusual that.

That there weren't downpours also worked to my advantage. Although the sound of heavy rain falling on the plastic roof next to my bedroom might have proved an attractive background track to my voice. Most likely, though, it would have drowned me out. How terrible that would be!

This whole lack-of-excessive-noise experience has led me to reappraise my perception of Barrio Santandercito. For sure, it is a lively and regularly noisy spot, but this noise doesn't seem to be as pervasive as I had previously thought. Equally as important, however, is the somewhat isolated, insulated nature of my lodgings: a serene sanctuary, of sorts, from Santandercito's unsolicited sounds.
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Listen to The Corrigan Cast podcast here.

Facebook: Wrong Way Corrigan — The Blog & IQuiz "The Bogotá Pub Quiz".

Thursday, 30 April 2026

Quotes and notes on James Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson: Part III

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

This is the concluding instalment of what has been my highlights package of James Boswell's biography of the eighteenth-century giant of English literature, Dr Samuel Johnson.
Image shows the individual portraits of Dr Samuel Johnson and his biography James Boswell fused together.
'Johnson is dead. Let us go to the next best. There is nobody; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson.'

For an audio version of this text, replete with my questionable attempts to mimic both Boswell and Johnson, visit https://youtu.be/E9Oks7jZeZs

In the year 1779

‘[I] would rather be attacked than unnoticed. For the worst thing you can do to an authour is to be silent as to his works. An assault upon a town is a bad thing; but starving it is still worse; an assault may be unsuccessful; you may have more men killed than you kill; but if you starve the town, you are sure of victory.'
A version of 'The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about’. That, and the idea that indifference is worse than hatred.

‘[B]randy will do soonest for a man what drinking CAN do for him. There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy. That is a power rather to be wished for than attained. And yet, (proceeded he,) as in all pleasure hope is a considerable part, I know not but fruition comes too quick by brandy.’
It's why I prefer to drink beer. I pass my alcohol limits too soon with spirits, often with disastrous results.

'He is YOUNG, my Lord; (looking to his Lordship with an arch smile,) all BOYS love liberty, till experience convinces them they are not so fit to govern themselves as they imagined. We are all agreed as to our own liberty; we would have as much of it as we can get; but we are not agreed as to the liberty of others: for in proportion as we take, others must lose. I believe we hardly wish that the mob should have liberty to govern us. When that was the case some time ago, no man was at liberty not to have candles in his windows.'
'Freedom for me. Restraint for others!' Total freedom, of course and as I've written about before, is an impossibility.

‘A particular kind of manufacture fails: those who have been used to work at it, can, for some time, work at nothing else. You meet a man begging; you charge him with idleness: he says, "I am willing to labour. Will you give me work?"—"I cannot."—"Why, then you have no right to charge me with idleness."'
Kind of explains my current predicament. Kind of! I've no problem working, if I can find the right work!

'Aliis laetus, sapiens sibi' ('cheerful for others, wise for himself').
'You may be wise in your study in the morning, and gay in company at a tavern in the evening. Every man is to take care of his own wisdom and his own virtue, without minding too much what others think.’
I could do better on the first part of that. Indeed, I could do better on both aspects!

He, I know not why, shewed upon all occasions an aversion to go to Ireland, where I proposed to him that we should make a tour. JOHNSON. 'It is the last place where I should wish to travel.' BOSWELL. 'Should you not like to see Dublin, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir! Dublin is only a worse capital.' BOSWELL. 'Is not the Giant's-Causeway worth seeing?' JOHNSON. 'Worth seeing? yes; but not worth going to see.'
Yet he had a kindness for the Irish nation, and thus generously expressed himself to a gentleman from that country, on the subject of an UNION which artful Politicians have often had in view—'Do not make an union with us, Sir. We should unite with you, only to rob you. We should have robbed the Scotch, if they had had any thing of which we could have robbed them.'
Johnson knew what a union would entail!

'Everything about his character and manners was forcible and violent; there never was any moderation; many a day did he fast, many a year did he refrain from wine; but when he did eat, it was voraciously; when he did drink wine, it was copiously. He could practise abstinence, but not temperance.'


'The Ambassadour says well—His Excellency observes—' And then he expanded and enriched the little that had been said, in so strong a manner, that it appeared something of consequence. This was exceedingly entertaining to the company who were present, and many a time afterwards it furnished a pleasant topick of merriment: 'The Ambassadour says well,' became a laughable term of applause, when no mighty matter had been expressed.
The opposite, in a way, to my father’s understated use of ‘very good’ for something that was quite noteworthy.

‘Surely I shall not spend my whole life with my own total disapprobation.’
Johnson wrote this on the day of his seventy-second birthday in 1780. I can relate to the sentiments.

He would allow no settled indulgence of idleness upon principle, and always repelled every attempt to urge excuses for it. A friend one day suggested, that it was not wholesome to study soon after dinner. JOHNSON: "Ah, Sir, don't give way to such a fancy. At one time of my life I had taken it into my head that it was not wholesome to study between breakfast and dinner."
One can always find an excuse not to do something!

‘A Frenchman must be always talking, whether he knows any thing of the matter or not; an Englishman is content to say nothing, when he has nothing to say.’
'You say it best, when you say nothing at all.'

‘Nil te quaesiveris extra.’
'Stretch your arm no further than your sleeve will reach.' Johnson said this to Goldsmith in relation to his modest accommodation at the time. It was said in a reassuring way.

Of Dr. Goldsmith he said, 'No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had.'
I guess this can be viewed as advice for one to stick to his area of expertise/talents.

1781, aged 72

In 1781 Johnson at last completed his Lives of the Poets, of which he gives this account: 'Some time in March I finished the Lives of the Poets, which I wrote in my usual way, dilatorily and hastily, unwilling to work, and working with vigour and haste.' In a memorandum previous to this, he says of them: 'Written, I hope, in such a manner as may tend to the promotion of piety.'
The inspiration comes in fits and starts.

Every thing about his character and manners was forcible and violent; there never was any moderation; many a day did he fast, many a year did he refrain from wine; but when he did eat, it was voraciously; when he did drink wine, it was copiously. He could practise abstinence, but not temperance.
When he went at it, he went at it! One knows a character or two who fit that mould.

I mentioned his scale of liquors;—claret for boys,—port for men,—brandy for heroes. 'Then (said Mr. Burke,) let me have claret: I love to be a boy; to have the careless gaiety of boyish days.' JOHNSON. 'I should drink claret too, if it would give me that; but it does not: it neither makes boys men, nor men boys. You'll be drowned by it, before it has any effect upon you.'
Careful, there, Edmund! I get the sentiment, though. What one would give to go back to one's younger days.

This [asking Johnson a risky question] was risking a good deal, and required the boldness of a General of Irish Volunteers to make the attempt.
The fighting Irish, eh?

‘[W]henever there is exaggerated praise, every body is set against a character. They are provoked to attack it.’
Like when people say how *amazing* Colombia — or anything, for that matter — is, I feel compelled to counter. Everything has its faults!

‘[A] man does not love to go to a place from whence he comes out exactly as he went in.’
Oftentimes I wish I could leave a tienda bar in the same state that I entered it!

‘Lectures were once useful; but now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are unnecessary. If your attention fails, and you miss a part of a lecture, it is lost; you cannot go back as you do upon a book.’
One may need guidance, all the same. I guess that's the idea of tutorials: do the assigned readings, then discuss them with fellow students and a tutor.

I [Boswell] was not a little amused by observing Allen perpetually struggling to talk in the manner of Johnson, like the little frog in the fable blowing himself up to resemble the stately ox.
Don't try to be somebody you're not. Many of us could do with heeding that advice more regularly.

‘I love Blair's Sermons. Though the dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such was my candour,' (smiling.)
The great Dr Johnson indeed, admiring a man who was not only a Presbyterian, but a Scotsman to boot — and one whom he might like to boot!

WILKES. (naming a celebrated orator,) 'Amidst all the brilliancy of ———'s imagination, and the exuberance of his wit, there is a strange want of TASTE. It was observed of Apelles's Venus, that her flesh seemed as if she had been nourished by roses: his oratory would sometimes make one suspect that he eats potatoes and drinks whisky.'
Might John Wilkes have been referring to Edmund Burke, with the potatoes/whiskey jibe a little dig at the Irish?

‘Always, Sir, set a high value on spontaneous kindness. He whose inclination prompts him to cultivate your friendship of his own accord, will love you more than one whom you have been at pains to attach to you.’
These days, it seems too many expect to be up in the friendship deal. Or that might be just my cynicism of genuine friendship after years living in Colombia.

Mrs. Thrale justly and wittily accounted for such conduct by saying, that Johnson's conversation was by much too strong for a person accustomed to obsequiousness and flattery; it was mustard in a young child's mouth!
Johnson was certainly no yes-man. He may not always have been right, but he told it as he saw it, a characteristic that is sorely lacking amongst many in the public sphere these days.

Although upon most occasions I never heard a more strenuous advocate for the advantages of wealth, than Dr. Johnson: he this day, I know not from what caprice, took the other side. 'I have not observed (said he,) that men of very large fortunes enjoy any thing extraordinary that makes happiness.’
A certain amount of wealth can bring "happiness" i.e. enough to ensure that one isn't constantly worrying about paying for the basics. But, as has been said elsewhere, ‘The more one makes, the more one spends.’ Although some folk become even more parsimonious the more money they have!

‘Sir, a man may be so much of every thing, that he is nothing of any thing.’


Johnson's charity to the poor was uniform and extensive, both from inclination and principle. He not only bestowed liberally out of his own purse, but what is more difficult as well as rare, would beg from others, when he had proper objects in view. This he did judiciously as well as humanely. Mr. Philip Metcalfe tells me, that when he has asked him for some money for persons in distress, and Mr. Metcalfe has offered what Johnson thought too much, he insisted on taking less, saying, 'No, no, Sir; we must not PAMPER them.'
Enough to help those in distress, but don't go overboard. A hand up, rather than a handout.

In one of his little memorandum-books is the following minute:
August 9, 3 P.M., aetat. 72, in the summer-house at Streatham.
'My purpose is,
To pass eight hours every day in some serious employment.
Having prayed, I purpose to employ the next six weeks upon the Italian language, for my settled study.’
Keeping the mind occupied as one ages. It's important at any age, though.

‘[A] man may prefer the state of the country-gentleman upon the whole, and yet there may never be a moment when he is willing to make the change to quit London for it.’
I’m pretty sure if I had my own country estate, I wouldn't leave it to go and live in a big city. I'd visit and stay in the city for periods, for sure, but give up living in the country estate indefinitely, no!

‘Fox never talks in private company; not from any determination not to talk, but because he has not the first motion. A man who is used to the applause of the House of Commons, has no wish for that of a private company. A man accustomed to throw for a thousand pounds, if set down to throw for sixpence, would not be at the pains to count his dice. Burke's talk is the ebullition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of distinction, but because his mind is full.’
So, according to Johnson, Burke spoke out of passion, Fox only when it was likely to win him favour. The wily Fox, perhaps!

‘A man cannot make a bad use of his money, so far as regards Society, if he does not hoard it; for if he either spends it or lends it out, Society has the benefit. It is in general better to spend money than to give it away; for industry is more promoted by spending money than by giving it away. A man who spends his money is sure he is doing good with it: he is not so sure when he gives it away. A man who spends ten thousand a year will do more good than a man who spends two thousand and gives away eight.’
One does need to keep a little in reserve all the same. How much is “a little” is very much open to interpretation, however!

‘Sir, a man may be so much of every thing, that he is nothing of any thing.’
‘A jack of all trades, a master of none.’ Or, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.’ A versatile factotum has his value. Yet, there is a risk where you can do many things fairly well but don't properly focus on any one of them.

‘Nec sufferre queat majoris pondera gemmae.’
‘Nor can it bear the weight of a greater gem.’ Said in reply to Boswell's comment that narrow-minded folk would be satisfied with a simple piece of jewellery rather than a great diamond. I get the metaphor, but in terms of actual materialism, I am more of a minimalist. To refer to an earlier comment of Johnson's, 'Stretch your arm no further than your sleeve will reach.’

‘A man should pass a part of his time with THE LAUGHERS, by which means any thing ridiculous or particular about him might be presented to his view, and corrected.’
Yes, we should all be able to take a bit of mocking, within reason.

‘Ah, Dr. Johnson [asked a Scotsman], what would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman?' 'Why, Sir, (said Johnson, after a little pause,) I should NOT have said of Buchanan, had he been an ENGLISHMAN, what I will now say of him as a SCOTCHMAN,—that he was the only man of genius his country ever produced.’

He disapproved of parentheses; and I believe in all his voluminous writings, not half a dozen of them will be found.

[T]here lurked about him a propensity to paultry saving. One day I owned to him that 'I was occasionally troubled with a fit of NARROWNESS.' 'Why, Sir, (said he,) so am I. BUT I DO NOT TELL IT.' He has now and then borrowed a shilling of me; and when I asked for it again, seemed to be rather out of humour. A droll little circumstance once occurred: as if he meant to reprimand my minute exactness as a creditor, he thus addressed me;—'Boswell, LEND me sixpence—NOT TO BE REPAID.’
I wouldn't have been inclined to lend him money, so!

‘Sir, there is no settling the point of precedency between a louse and a flea.’
The louse and the flea might argue the toss, though! Leave them at it!

‘Gravina, an Italian critick, observes, that every man desires to see that of which he has read; but no man desires to read an account of what he has seen: so much does description fall short of reality. Description only excites curiosity: seeing satisfies it.’
I would add that few people like to read an account of a subject they think they know well, which may be an impediment. For example, I often find it difficult to read, listen to or watch material on Colombia.

‘People in general do not willingly read, if they can have any thing else to amuse them. There must be an external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. The progress which the understanding makes through a book, has more pain than pleasure in it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to express the nice gradations and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are light compositions, which contain a quick succession of events.'
For sure, one often has to force oneself to read. I do, anyway! Now, I do have a desire to read more, but I am easily distracted from doing so.

'A lady will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to him.'


‘[C]lear your MIND of cant . . . You may say, "These are bad times; it is a melancholy thing to be reserved to such times." You don't mind the times. You tell a man, "I am sorry you had such bad weather the last day of your journey, and were so much wet." You don't care six-pence whether he is wet or dry. You may TALK in this manner; it is a mode of talking in Society: but don't THINK foolishly.’
Quite. Even when we ask somebody how they are, most if not all of the time we don't really care how they are!

‘I would rather trust my money to a man who has no hands, and so a physical impossibility to steal, than to a man of the most honest principles.’
In other words, you can never truly trust people. Nobody is completely virtuous.

‘Get as much force of mind as you can. Live within your income. Always have something saved at the end of the year. Let your imports be more than your exports, and you'll never go far wrong.’
Nothing revelatory in this, but it's good to know he said it.

In a letter to Edmund Allen:
‘It has pleased GOD, this morning, to deprive me of the powers of speech; and as I do not know but that it may be his further good pleasure to deprive me soon of my senses.’
Good old god works in mysterious ways, for sure!

‘As I know more of mankind I expect less of them, and am ready now to call a man A GOOD MAN, upon easier terms than I was formerly.’
One’s expectations become lower as one ages. I guess it's happening to me, too.

[T]o Mr. Kemble, he said, 'Are you, Sir, one of those enthusiasts who believe yourself transformed into the very character you represent?' Upon Mr. Kemble's answering that he had never felt so strong a persuasion himself; 'To be sure not, Sir, (said Johnson;) the thing is impossible. And if Garrick really believed himself to be that monster, Richard the Third, he deserved to be hanged every time he performed it.’
It could be said we're always playing a character, even when we're *being* ourselves. Or is it just me who thinks so?!

‘[C]ondolences and consolations are such common and such useless things, that the omission of them is no great crime: and my own diseases occupy my mind, and engage my care.’
I tend to agree about condolences and consolations, although sometimes it is nice to know that somebody does care, even if just superficially. Another great English writer, but one of more recent vintage and who liked America, Christopher Hitchens, in his memoir Hitch-22, endorses the idea of sending condolences.

1784, aged 75

'There is no arguing with Johnson; for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.’
Those were Goldsmith’s words. Of course, this isn't to say that Johnson was always right, although he often was, he was just difficult to argue against!

‘Sir, he [Mr Langton] brought me a sheet of paper, on which he had written down several texts of Scripture, recommending christian charity. And when I questioned him what occasion I had given for such an animadversion, all that he could say amounted to this,—that I sometimes contradicted people in conversation. Now what harm does it do to any man to be contradicted?' BOSWELL. 'I suppose he meant the MANNER of doing it; roughly,—and harshly.' JOHNSON. 'And who is the worse for that?' BOSWELL. 'It hurts people of weak nerves.' JOHNSON. 'I know no such weak-nerved people.' Mr. Burke, to whom I related this conference, said, 'It is well, if when a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon his conscience than having been a little rough in conversation.’
Hear, hear Mr Burke!

'I think I am like Squire Richard in The Journey to London, "I'm never strange in a strange place."' He was truly SOCIAL. He strongly censured what is much too common in England among persons of condition,—maintaining an absolute silence, when unknown to each other; as for instance, when occasionally brought together in a room before the master or mistress of the house has appeared. 'Sir, that is being so uncivilised as not to understand the common rights of humanity.’
We could say that Johnson was more Irish than stiff-upper-lip English in this sense!

‘[T]he greatest profligate will be as well received as the man of the greatest virtue, and this by a very good woman, by a woman who says her prayers three times a day . . . No, no, a lady will take Jonathan Wild as readily as St. Austin, if he has threepence more; and, what is worse, her parents will give her to him. Women have a perpetual envy of our vices; they are less vicious than we, not from choice, but because we restrict them; they are the slaves of order and fashion; their virtue is of more consequence to us than our own, so far as concerns this world.’
And once they were *freed*, they readily embraced our vices! I've touched on many of the points Johnson raises here. See, for example, The wages of loveA prostitute by any other name, and Dealing with a sexed-up society.

‘You put me in mind of Dr. Barrowby, the physician, who was very fond of swine's flesh. One day, when he was eating it, he said, "I wish I was a Jew." "Why so? (said somebody;) the Jews are not allowed to eat your favourite meat." "Because, (said he,) I should then have the gust of eating it, with the pleasure of sinning."’
The hellishly good forbidden fruit.

I had the resolution to ask Johnson whether he thought that the roughness of his manner had been an advantage or not, and if he would not have done more good if he had been more gentle. I proceeded to answer myself thus: 'Perhaps it has been of advantage, as it has given weight to what you said: you could not, perhaps, have talked with such authority without it.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; I have done more good as I am. Obscenity and Impiety have always been repressed in my company.' BOSWELL. 'True, Sir; and that is more than can be said of every Bishop. Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a Bishop, though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore not commanding such awe. Yet, Sir, many people who might have been benefited by your conversation, have been frightened away. A worthy friend of ours has told me, that he has often been afraid to talk to you.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he had any thing rational to say. If he had not, it was better he did not talk.’
We are who we are. I can be quite fiery, impatient, but if I wasn't, I wouldn't be me. Has my temperament been a net benefit for me? That's hard to know. And yes, we can always try to be better, where we feel it's needed.

‘I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.’


‘We have more respect for a man who robs boldly on the highway, than for a fellow who jumps out of a ditch, and knocks you down behind your back. Courage is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always respected, even when it is associated with vice.’
Quite. Down with those sneaky, pernicious, two-faced cowards.

‘That he [God] is infinitely good, as far as the perfection of his nature will allow, I certainly believe; but it is necessary for good upon the whole, that individuals should be punished. As to an INDIVIDUAL, therefore, he is not infinitely good; and as I cannot be SURE that I have fulfilled the conditions on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I may be one of those who shall be damned.’
If Johnson has been sent to hell, then I shall certainly be there. Maybe I already am there!

[W]e passed to discourse of life, whether it was upon the whole more happy or miserable. Johnson was decidedly for the balance of misery: in confirmation of which I maintained, that no man would choose to lead over again the life which he had experienced. Johnson acceded to that opinion in the strongest terms.
I concur. Life is a sea of mediocrity, if not quite misery, which receives an occasional shower of joy. These freshwater rains soon match the composition of the salty sea, however.

‘[N]o man is a hypocrite in his pleasures.’
Said in reply to Joshua Reynolds in relation to ‘taking the altitude’ of a man’s tastes.

The difference, he observed, between a well-bred and an ill-bred man is this: 'One immediately attracts your liking, the other your aversion. You love the one till you find reason to hate him; you hate the other till you find reason to love him.'
I think most decent people tend to like me, until I give them a reason not to!

[H]e had no taste for painting.
Said Boswell. That makes two of us! Well, I'm certainly not a painting fanatic! Later, in reply to Boswell's remark about the inferiority of painting to poetry, Johnson said, ‘Painting, Sir, can illustrate, but cannot inform.’

‘This is taking prodigious pains about a man.'
'O! Sir, (said I, with most sincere affection,) your friends would do every thing for you.' He paused, grew more and more agitated, till tears started into his eyes, and he exclaimed with fervent emotion, 'GOD bless you all.' I was so affected that I also shed tears. After a short silence, he renewed and extended his grateful benediction, 'GOD bless you all, for JESUS CHRIST'S sake.' We both remained for some time unable to speak. He rose suddenly and quitted the room, quite melted in tenderness.
Johnson's reaction on hearing that his friends had asked the government to pay for his planned trip to Italy for the coming winter.

'Sir, it is in the intellectual world as in the physical world; we are told by natural philosophers that a body is at rest in the place that is fit for it; they who are content to live in the country, are FIT for the country.’
Horses for courses, as the saying goes. I think I am fit for the country, or at least a country town as opposed to a sprawling metropolis.

‘I will be conquered; I will not capitulate.’
I, too, wish to leave the land of the living in this way. Go down fighting, with vigour.

It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time.
It's a task few of us seem eager to carry out.

Johnson, with that native fortitude, which, amidst all his bodily distress and mental sufferings, never forsook him, asked Dr. Brocklesby, as a man in whom he had confidence, to tell him plainly whether he could recover. 'Give me (said he,) a direct answer.' The Doctor having first asked him if he could hear the whole truth, which way soever it might lead, and being answered that he could, declared that, in his opinion, he could not recover without a miracle. 'Then, (said Johnson,) I will take no more physick, not even my opiates; for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to GOD unclouded.’
Principled and strong right to the end.

The book ends with these words, said by an unnamed acquaintance of Boswell's. I can think of no better way but to also end with them:
‘He has made a chasm, which not only nothing can fill up, but which nothing has a tendency to fill up. Johnson is dead. Let us go to the next best:—there is nobody; no man can be said to put you in mind of Johnson.’


Thursday, 23 April 2026

Quotes and notes on James Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson: Part II

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

In this instalment, we get Johnson's take on the benefits of socialising in a tavern as well as the pros and cons of drinking alcohol; we see his fondness for the Irish, dislike of the Scottish and utter hatred for the upstart American colonists; he gives us his considered advice on both reading and writing; and we see how he wasn't a believer in soulmates — or children!
Image is of merged portraits of Samuel Johnson and his biographer and good friend, James Boswell.
Samuel Johnson and James Boswell: Boozing buddies, before Johnson gave up alcohol, that is.
An audio version of this text is available at https://youtu.be/BAodQcX1FGY. It makes for a good accompaniment to get an idea of what both Boswell and Johnson sounded like, as I envisioned them, anyway! In this text version, my observations/remarks are in italics.

For Part I, see https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2026/04/quotes-and-notes-on-james-boswells-life.html.

1772:

‘A cow is a very good animal in the field; but we turn her out of a garden.’
She's not always a good animal in the field, all the same! I speak from experience!

I [Boswell] at last had recourse to the maxim, in vino veritas, a man who is well warmed with wine will speak truth. JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, that may be an argument for drinking, if you suppose men in general to be liars. But, Sir, I would not keep company with a fellow, who lyes as long as he is sober, and whom you must make drunk before you can get a word of truth out of him.'
Well said, Dr Johnson.

'What is CLIMATE to happiness? Place me in the heart of Asia, should I not be exiled? What proportion does climate bear to the complex system of human life?'
I think it plays an important part. It often does for me, anyway.

‘As they say of a generous man, it is a pity he is not rich, we may say of Goldsmith, it is a pity he is not knowing. He would not keep his knowledge to himself.’

1773 and 1774

He told me that he had twelve or fourteen times attempted to keep a journal of his life, but never could persevere. He advised me to do it. 'The great thing to be recorded, (said he,) is the state of your own mind; and you should write down every thing that you remember, for you cannot judge at first what is good or bad; and write immediately while the impression is fresh, for it will not be the same a week afterwards.'
Since reading those lines, I’ve been trying to keep a diary.

'It is maintaining that you may lie to the publick; for you lie when you call that right which you think wrong, or the reverse.'
Toeing the party line, saying what you think is acceptable to others, rather than saying what you really think. I do try to be truthful to myself at all times.

'He had long before indulged most unfavourable sentiments of our fellow-subjects in America. For, as early as 1769, I was told by Dr. John Campbell, that he had said of them, "Sir, they are a race of convicts, and ought to be thankful for any thing we allow them short of hanging."'

He observed that 'The Irish mix better with the English than the Scotch do; their language is nearer to English; as a proof of which, they succeed very well as players, which Scotchmen do not. Then, Sir, they have not that extreme nationality which we find in the Scotch. I will do you, Boswell, the justice to say, that you are the most UNSCOTTIFIED of your countrymen. You are almost the only instance of a Scotchman that I have known, who did not at every other sentence bring in some other Scotchman.'
Over the years, plenty of Irish have demonstrated ‘that extreme nationality’ that Johnson seems to loathe. And did not the Irish, some of them anyway, go to battle with Britain for national self-determination?

'Why, Sir, all ignorant savages will laugh when they are told of the advantages of civilized life. Were you to tell men who live without houses, how we pile brick upon brick, and rafter upon rafter, and that after a house is raised to a certain height, a man tumbles off a scaffold, and breaks his neck; he would laugh heartily at our folly in building; but it does not follow that men are better without houses. No, Sir, (holding up a slice of a good loaf,) this is better than the bread tree.'

'The Irish are in a most unnatural state; for we see there the minority prevailing over the majority. There is no instance, even in the ten persecutions, of such severity as that which the Protestants of Ireland have exercised against the Catholicks. Did we tell them we have conquered them, it would be above board: to punish them by confiscation and other penalties, as rebels, was monstrous injustice. King William was not their lawful sovereign: he had not been acknowledged by the Parliament of Ireland, when they appeared in arms against him.'
Hear, hear, Dr Johnson!

. . . Addison, who was content with the fame of his writings, and did not aim also at excellency in conversation, for which he found himself unfit; and that he said to a lady who complained of his having talked little in company, 'Madam, I have but ninepence in ready money, but I can draw for a thousand pounds.' I observed, that Goldsmith had a great deal of gold in his cabinet, but, not content with that, was always taking out his purse. JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir, and that so often an empty purse!'

1775, aged 66

My much-valued friend Dr. Barnard, now Bishop of Killaloc, having once expressed to him an apprehension, that if he should visit Ireland he might treat the people of that country more unfavourably than he had done the Scotch, he answered, with strong pointed double-edged wit, 'Sir, you have no reason to be afraid of me. The Irish are not in a conspiracy to cheat the world by false representations of the merits of their countrymen. No, Sir; the Irish are a FAIR PEOPLE;—they never speak well of one another.'
He's not wrong there!

He had long before indulged most unfavourable sentiments of our fellow-subjects in America. For, as early as 1769, I was told by Dr. John Campbell, that he had said of them, 'Sir, they are a race of convicts, and ought to be thankful for any thing we allow them short of hanging.'
The Yankee tax evaders, eh?!

He made the common remark on the unhappiness which men who have led a busy life experience, when they retire in expectation of enjoying themselves at ease, and that they generally languish for want of their habitual occupation, and wish to return to it. He mentioned as strong an instance of this as can well be imagined. 'An eminent tallow-chandler in London, who had acquired a considerable fortune, gave up the trade in favour of his foreman, and went to live at a country-house near town. He soon grew weary, and paid frequent visits to his old shop, where he desired they might let him know their melting-days, and he would come and assist them; which he accordingly did. Here, Sir, was a man, to whom the most disgusting circumstance in the business to which he had been used was a relief from idleness.'
Idleness and retirement; most of us always need something to occupy our minds, to be at something that seems worthwhile.

‘When a man writes from his own mind, he writes very rapidly. The greatest part of a writer's time is spent in reading, in order to write: a man will turn over half a library to make one book.’

'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.' But let it be considered, that he did not mean a real and generous love of our country, but that pretended patriotism which so many, in all ages and countries, have made a cloak for self-interest.

He again advised me to keep a journal fully and minutely, but not to mention such trifles as, that meat was too much or too little done, or that the weather was fair or rainy. He had, till very near his death, a contempt for the notion that the weather affects the human frame.
Again, I disagree. The weather often does affect my mind, even though I know there’s nothing I can do to change it. And, of course, it can and does affect one’s health.

‘No, Sir; admiration and love are like being intoxicated with champagne; judgement and friendship like being enlivened.’
The former is ephemeral and often leaves one with a bad head and the blues. The latter is longer-lasting and tends to make one stronger.

'Their learning is like bread in a besieged town: every man gets a little, but no man gets a full meal.' 'There is (said he,) in Scotland, a diffusion of learning, a certain portion of it widely and thinly spread. A merchant there has as much learning as one of their clergy.’
He never missed an opportunity to have a go at the Scots!

‘To be sure not, Sir. I believe marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a due consideration of characters and circumstances, without the parties having any choice in the matter.’


‘I was glad to go abroad, and, perhaps, glad to come home; which is, in other words, I was, I am afraid, weary of being at home, and weary of being abroad. Is not this the state of life?’
I can relate to that. I’m happy to be on the move, then, after a time, I’m happy to get back to a more settled existence. And then I want to get moving again. One is never truly “settled”.

It was a maxim with him that a man should not let himself down, by speaking a language which he speaks imperfectly. Indeed, we must have often observed how inferiour, how much like a child a man appears, who speaks a broken tongue.
I agree to a point, but one has to start somewhere when learning a foreign tongue.

1776, aged 67

On the benefits of inns/taverns, or pubs as we say today.
'There is no private house, (said he) in which people can enjoy themselves so well, as at a capital tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of good things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much elegance, ever so much desire that every body should be easy; in the nature of things it cannot be: there must always be some degree of care and anxiety. The master of the house is anxious to entertain his guests; the guests are anxious to be agreeable to him: and no man, but a very impudent dog indeed, can as freely command what is in another man's house, as if it were his own. Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general freedom from anxiety. You are sure you are welcome: and the more noise you make, the more trouble you give, the more good things you call for, the welcomer you are. No servants will attend you with the alacrity which waiters do, who are incited by the prospect of an immediate reward, in proportion as they please. No, Sir; there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.'
I couldn't agree more! Although it's the tienda for me in Colombia. And the panaderías, of course. Alas, the Irish pub seems to be dying a death, particularly in rural areas.

‘I [Sir John Hawkins] have heard him assert, that a tavern chair was the throne of human felicity.—"As soon," said he, "as I enter the door of a tavern, I experience an oblivion of care, and a freedom from solicitude [concern] : when I am seated, I find the master courteous, and the servants obsequious to my call; anxious to know and ready to supply my wants: wine there exhilarates my spirits, and prompts me to free conversation and an interchange of discourse with those whom I most love: I dogmatise and am contradicted, and in this conflict of opinions and sentiments I find delight."’

‘Marriage is the best state for a man in general; and every man is a worse man, in proportion as he is unfit for the married state.’

‘To be sure not, Sir. I believe marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a due consideration of characters and circumstances, without the parties having any choice in the matter.’
So Dr Johnson wasn’t a believer in soulmates, it seems! I have touched on this before, too. See https://wwcorrigan.blogspot.com/2022/10/everlasting-love.html.

Dr. Johnson talked with approbation of one who had attained to the state of the philosophical wise man, that is to have no want of any thing.
I'm approaching that state, aren't I?! Or, it might be more the case that I’m telling myself I have no want of anything because I’m not in a position to have much!

He said, 'It is commonly a weak man who marries for love.' We then talked of marrying women of fortune; and I mentioned a common remark, that a man may be, upon the whole, richer by marrying a woman with a very small portion, because a woman of fortune will be proportionally expensive; whereas a woman who brings none will be very moderate in expenses. JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, this is not true. A woman of fortune being used to the handling of money, spends it judiciously: but a woman who gets the command of money for the first time upon her marriage, has such a gust in spending it, that she throws it away with great profusion.'
Thus, I should be looking for a woman of fortune. But would such a woman take a modest man like me?!

'There are some sluggish men who are improved by drinking; as there are fruits which are not good till they are rotten.'


‘If I were in the country, and were distressed by that malady, I would force myself to take a book; and every time I did it I should find it the easier. Melancholy, indeed, should be diverted by every means but drinking.’
Some of us may need to try harder on the ‘read more, drink less’ front. I do find the drinking-less side of it harder to do in Colombia compared to Ireland.

'No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.' Numerous instances to refute this will occur to all who are versed in the history of literature (Boswell's text).
Introducing blockhead extraordinaire, Brendan ‘Wrong Way’ Corrigan! But Boswell is right, the instances of those who wrote for little or no financial recompense are most likely greater than those who have received payment.

He appeared to have a pleasure in contradiction, especially when any opinion whatever was delivered with an air of confidence; so that there was hardly any topick, if not one of the great truths of Religion and Morality, that he might not have been incited to argue, either for or against.
I have a tendency to do the same. Or at least to try and see the other sides of an argument and put them forward for consideration, even if I don’t agree with them.

'[I]t is better that some should be unhappy, than that none should be happy, which would be the case in a general state of equality.'
Dr Johnson wasn't a communist or socialist anyway.

'We may be excused for not caring much about other people's children, for there are many who care very little about their own children. It may be observed, that men, who from being engaged in business, or from their course of life in whatever way, seldom see their children, do not care much about them. I myself should not have had much fondness for a child of my own.' MRS. THRALE. 'Nay, Sir, how can you talk so?' JOHNSON. 'At least, I never wished to have a child.'
Keep your children to yourself, if you can even do that!

‘[B]efore dinner men meet with great inequality of understanding; and those who are conscious of their inferiority, have the modesty not to talk. When they have drunk wine, every man feels himself happy, and loses that modesty, and grows impudent and vociferous: but he is not improved; he is only not sensible of his defects . . . I also admit, that there are some sluggish men who are improved by drinking; as there are fruits which are not good till they are rotten.’
Indeed! Like medlar fruit, as Johnson went on to say. I know a few who fit this description, they’re not good until they’re rotten!

‘[F]or general improvement, a man should read whatever his immediate inclination prompts him to; though, to be sure, if a man has a science to learn, he must regularly and resolutely advance.’. . . '[W]hat we read with inclination makes a much stronger impression. If we read without inclination, half the mind is employed in fixing the attention; so there is but one half to be employed on what we read.' He told us, he read Fielding's Amelia through without stopping. He said, 'if a man begins to read in the middle of a book, and feels an inclination to go on, let him not quit it, to go to the beginning. He may perhaps not feel again the inclination.'
I have found myself at times sticking with certain books that don’t interest me that much. But, there have been few books that I haven’t at least got something out of, hence my tendency to persevere.

We were by no means pleased with our inn at Bristol. 'Let us see now, (said I,) how we should describe it.' Johnson was ready with his raillery. 'Describe it, Sir?—Why, it was so bad that Boswell wished to be in Scotland!'
Like when I long to be back in Ireland! I jest, kind of!

1777, aged 68:

‘Tell Mrs. Boswell that I shall taste her marmalade cautiously at first. Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes. Beware, says the Italian proverb, of a reconciled enemy.’
'I fear the Greeks even when bearing gifts', from Virgil's Aeneid, said by a Trojan priest warning his people about a large wooden gift from the Greeks.

‘Sir, we disapprove of him, not because he soon forgets his grief, for the sooner it is forgotten the better, but because we suppose, that if he forgets his wife or his friend soon, he has not had much affection for them.'
We do, all the same, have to try to move on, deal with the new normal, after grief.

Talking of biography, I said, in writing a life, a man's peculiarities should be mentioned, because they mark his character. JOHNSON. 'Sir, there is no doubt as to peculiarities: the question is, whether a man's vices should be mentioned; for instance, whether it should be mentioned that Addison and Parnell drank too freely: for people will probably more easily indulge in drinking from knowing this; so that more ill may be done by the example, than good by telling the whole truth.' Here was an instance of his varying from himself in talk; for when Lord Hailes and he sat one morning calmly conversing in my house at Edinburgh, I well remember that Dr. Johnson maintained, that 'If a man is to write A Panegyrick, he may keep vices out of sight; but if he professes to write A Life, he must represent it really as it was:' and when I objected to the danger of telling that Parnell drank to excess, he said, that 'it would produce an instructive caution to avoid drinking, when it was seen, that even the learning and genius of Parnell could be debased by it.' And in the Hebrides he maintained, as appears from my Journal, that a man's intimate friend should mention his faults, if he writes his life.
Johnson's contradictions. What did he really think? I suggest the latter.

He told us 'that whatever a man's distemper was, Dr. Nichols would not attend him as a physician, if his mind was not at ease; for he believed that no medicines would have any influence. He once attended a man in trade, upon whom he found none of the medicines he prescribed had any effect: he asked the man's wife privately whether his affairs were not in a bad way? She said no. He continued his attendance some time, still without success. At length the man's wife told him, she had discovered that her husband's affairs WERE in a bad way. When Goldsmith was dying, Dr. Turton said to him, "Your pulse is in greater disorder than it should be, from the degree of fever which you have: is your mind at ease?" Goldsmith answered it was not.'
As per Gabor Maté's book, When the Body Says No.

‘Goldsmith was a plant that flowered late.’
There's hope for some of us yet!

A fortress which soon surrenders has its walls less shattered than when a long and obstinate resistance is made.
Boswell's summation of Johnson's view of those who need to drink a lot to get drunk.

We talked of employment being absolutely necessary to preserve the mind from wearying and growing fretful, especially in those who have a tendency to melancholy; and I mentioned to him a saying which somebody had related of an American savage, who, when an European was expatiating on all the advantages of money, put this question: 'Will it purchase OCCUPATION?' JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, this saying is too refined for a savage. And, Sir, money WILL purchase occupation; it will purchase all the conveniences of life; it will purchase variety of company; it will purchase all sorts of entertainment.'
I can see both sides to this. One needs to be doing something, but if one has enough money, one's occupation can be one's hobby: writing, reading, playing sports, travelling, etc. The problem is when one has no employment and no savings but still needs to be at something to keep the mind from fretting.

'I compared Johnson at this time to a warm West-Indian climate, where you have a bright sun, quick vegetation, luxuriant foliage, luscious fruits; but where the same heat sometimes produces thunder, lightning, earthquakes, in a terrible degree.'


'Now, Sir, to talk of RESPECT for a PLAYER!' (smiling disdainfully.) BOSWELL. 'There, Sir, you are always heretical: you never will allow merit to a player.' JOHNSON. 'Merit, Sir! what merit? Do you respect a rope-dancer, or a ballad-singer?' BOSWELL. 'No, Sir: but we respect a great player, as a man who can conceive lofty sentiments, and can express them gracefully.' JOHNSON. 'What, Sir, a fellow who claps a hump on his back, and a lump on his leg, and cries "I am Richard the Third"? Nay, Sir, a ballad-singer is a higher man, for he does two things; he repeats and he sings: there is both recitation and musick in his performance: the player only recites.' BOSWELL. 'My dear Sir! you may turn anything into ridicule. I allow, that a player of farce is not entitled to respect; he does a little thing: but he who can represent exalted characters, and touch the noblest passions, has very respectable powers; and mankind have agreed in admiring great talents for the stage. We must consider, too, that a great player does what very few are capable to do: his art is a very rare faculty. WHO can repeat Hamlet's soliloquy, "To be, or not to be," as Garrick does it?' JOHNSON. 'Any body may. Jemmy, there (a boy about eight years old, who was in the room,) will do it as well in a week.' BOSWELL. 'No, no, Sir: and as a proof of the merit of great acting, and of the value which mankind set upon it, Garrick has got a hundred thousand pounds.' JOHNSON. 'Is getting a hundred thousand pounds a proof of excellence? That has been done by a scoundrel commissary.'
This was most fallacious reasoning. I was SURE, for once, that I had the best side of the argument. I boldly maintained the just distinction between a tragedian and a mere theatrical droll; between those who rouse our terrour and pity, and those who only make us laugh. 'If (said I,) Betterton and Foote were to walk into this room, you would respect Betterton much more than Foote.' JOHNSON. 'If Betterton were to walk into this room with Foote, Foote would soon drive him out of it. Foote, Sir, quatenus Foote, has powers superiour to them all.'
And look at the way many exalt Hollywood actors today, as I've critiqued ofttimes before.

I perceived that he pronounced the word heard, as if spelt with a double e, heerd, instead of sounding it herd, as is most usually done. He said, his reason was, that if it was pronounced herd, there would be a single exception from the English pronunciation of the syllable ear, and he thought it better not to have that exception.
Makes sense in a way, as in ear > hear > heard, keeping the pronunciation constant!

His violent prejudice against our West Indian and American settlers appeared whenever there was an opportunity. Towards the conclusion of his Taxation no Tyranny, he says, 'how is it that we hear the loudest YELPS for liberty among the drivers of negroes?'
Double-standards. While I never!

BOSWELL. 'I think, Sir, you once said to me, that not to drink wine was a great deduction from life.' JOHNSON. 'It is a diminution of pleasure, to be sure; but I do not say a diminution of happiness. There is more happiness in being rational.' BOSWELL. 'But if we could have pleasure always, should not we be happy? The greatest part of men would compound for pleasure.' JOHNSON. 'Supposing we could have pleasure always, an intellectual man would not compound for it. The greatest part of men would compound, because the greatest part of men are gross.'
Quite. One doesn't find happiness at the bottom of a bottle or glass. Or not any meaningful happiness in any case.

Johnson now in his 70th year:

No wise man will go to live in the country, unless he has something to do which can be better done in the country. For instance: if he is to shut himself up for a year to study a science, it is better to look out to the fields, than to an opposite wall. Then, if a man walks out in the country, there is nobody to keep him from walking in again: but if a man walks out in London, he is not sure when he shall walk in again. A great city is, to be sure, the school for studying life; and "The proper study of mankind is man," as Pope observes.
In today's Digital Age, there’s less of a need to be in a city to learn and be connected, to a certain extent anyway.

Fortunam reverenter habe [Johnson said in relation to Garrick]
'Treat fortune with reverence' or 'Handle good fortune with respect'.

I [Boswell] really believed I should go and see the wall of China had I not children, of whom it was my duty to take care. 'Sir, (said he,) by doing so, you would do what would be of importance in raising your children to eminence. There would be a lustre reflected upon them from your spirit and curiosity. They would be at all times regarded as the children of a man who had gone to view the wall of China. I am serious, Sir.'
These days, this would certainly be viewed as neglect!

Langton said very well to me afterwards, that he could repeat Johnson's conversation before dinner, as Johnson had said that he could repeat a complete chapter of The Natural History of Iceland, from the Danish of Horrebow, the whole of which was exactly thus:—

'CHAP. LXXII. Concerning snakes.

'There are no snakes to be met with throughout the whole island.'

Nicely put! And is that the shortest chapter in history?!

'I am willing to love all mankind, EXCEPT AN AMERICAN:' and his inflammable corruption bursting into horrid fire, he 'breathed out threatenings and slaughter;' calling them, Rascals—Robbers—Pirates;' and exclaiming, he'd 'burn and destroy them.' Miss Seward, looking to him with mild but steady astonishment, said, 'Sir, this is an instance that we are always most violent against those whom we have injured.' He was irritated still more by this delicate and keen reproach; and roared out another tremendous volley, which one might fancy could be heard across the Atlantick. During this tempest I sat in great uneasiness, lamenting his heat of temper; till, by degrees, I diverted his attention to other topicks.
Some Yanks can have that effect on us!

I [Boswell] compared him [Johnson] at this time to a warm West-Indian climate, where you have a bright sun, quick vegetation, luxuriant foliage, luscious fruits; but where the same heat sometimes produces thunder, lightning, earthquakes, in a terrible degree.
I could say that about myself!

JOHNSON. 'I do not say, Sir, you may not publish your travels; but I give you my opinion, that you would lessen yourself by it. What can you tell of countries so well known as those upon the continent of Europe, which you have visited?' BOSWELL. 'But I can give an entertaining narrative, with many incidents, anecdotes, jeux d'esprit, and remarks, so as to make very pleasant reading.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, most modern travellers in Europe who have published their travels, have been laughed at: I would not have you added to the number. The world is now not contented to be merely entertained by a traveller's narrative; they want to learn something. Now some of my friends asked me, why I did not give some account of my travels in France. The reason is plain; intelligent readers had seen more of France than I had. YOU might have liked my travels in France, and THE CLUB might have liked them; but, upon the whole, there would have been more ridicule than good produced by them.' BOSWELL. 'I cannot agree with you, Sir. People would like to read what you say of any thing. Suppose a face has been painted by fifty painters before; still we love to see it done by Sir Joshua.' JOHNSON. 'True, Sir, but Sir Joshua cannot paint a face when he has not time to look on it.' BOSWELL. 'Sir, a sketch of any sort by him is valuable. And, Sir, to talk to you in your own style (raising my voice, and shaking my head,) you SHOULD have given us your travels in France. I am SURE I am right, and THERE'S AN END ON'T.'
My dilemma, my problem. Are people interested in hearing my take on MY topsy-turvy life in Colombia? Will they learn something from it? I think so, but I've yet to pique the interest of an agent or a publisher.

I said to him that it was certainly true, as my friend Dempster had observed in his letter to me upon the subject, that a great part of what was in his Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland had been in his mind before he left London. JOHNSON. 'Why yes, Sir, the topicks were; and books of travels will be good in proportion to what a man has previously in his mind; his knowing what to observe; his power of contrasting one mode of life with another. As the Spanish proverb says, "He, who would bring home the wealth of the Indies, must carry the wealth of the Indies with him." So it is in travelling; a man must carry knowledge with him, if he would bring home knowledge.' BOSWELL. 'The proverb, I suppose, Sir, means, he must carry a large stock with him to trade with.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir.'
A bit like a report on a football match or suchlike. One wouldn't want to hear/read a report from somebody who was ignorant of the teams, never mind ignorant of the sport!

And as to regular meals, I have fasted from the Sunday's dinner to the Tuesday's dinner, without any inconvenience. I believe it is best to eat just as one is hungry: but a man who is in business, or a man who has a family, must have stated meals. I am a straggler. I may leave this town and go to Grand Cairo, without being missed here or observed there.
Eat to hunger. I concur, Dr Johnson. And I also agree that this is easier to do for a single man.

JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir; we'll send YOU to him. If your company does not drive a man out of his house, nothing will.' This was a horrible shock, for which there was no visible cause. I afterwards asked him why he had said so harsh a thing. JOHNSON. Because, Sir, you made me angry about the Americans.' BOSWELL. 'But why did you not take your revenge directly?' JOHNSON. (smiling,) 'Because, Sir, I had nothing ready. A man cannot strike till he has his weapons.' This was a candid and pleasant confession.
A nice take on the maxim that 'revenge is a dish best served cold'.

‘Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.’ [Said by Boswell, or Johnson, in relation to the first Whig!]
My fondness for Colombia's working-class barrios could be seen as an example of this. Could be, that is!

‘Wine makes a man better pleased with himself. I do not say that it makes him more pleasing to others. Sometimes it does. But the danger is, that while a man grows better pleased with himself, he may be growing less pleasing to others. Wine gives a man nothing. It neither gives him knowledge nor wit; it only animates a man, and enables him to bring out what a dread of the company had repressed. It only puts in motion what has been locked up in frost. But this may be good, or it may be bad . . .
But let us consider what a sad thing it would be, if we were obliged to drink or do any thing else that may happen to be agreeable to the company where we are.’
Indeed!

JOHNSON. 'Sir, there is no more reason for your drinking with HIM, than his being sober with YOU.' BOSWELL. 'Why, that is true; for it would do him less hurt to be sober, than it would do me to get drunk.'

‘It has been maintained that this superfoetation, this teeming of the press in modern times, is prejudicial to good literature, because it obliges us to read so much of what is of inferiour value, in order to be in the fashion; so that better works are neglected for want of time, because a man will have more gratification of his vanity in conversation, from having read modern books, than from having read the best works of antiquity. But it must be considered, that we have now more knowledge generally diffused; all our ladies read now, which is a great extension. Modern writers are the moons of literature; they shine with reflected light, with light borrowed from the ancients. Greece appears to me to be the fountain of knowledge; Rome of elegance.’
Can I call myself a moon of literature? Well, I "can", but am I?!

'I do not think so; a man has from nature a certain portion of mind; the use he makes of it depends upon his own free will. That a man has always the same firmness of mind I do not say; because every man feels his mind less firm at one time than another; but I think a man's being in a good or bad humour depends upon his will.' I [Boswell], however, could not help thinking that a man's humour is often uncontroulable by his will.
Can we will ourselves into a better mood? I side with Johnson here; I think we can, to a certain extent, anyway. Outwardly, we can feign a sunny disposition, even if internally we're feeling down. Although in practice, this may be difficult to sustain.

BOSWELL. 'What I admire in Ramsay, is his continuing to be so young.' JOHNSON. 'Why, yes, Sir, it is to be admired. I value myself upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation. I am now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, would not you wish to know old age? He who is never an old man, does not know the whole of human life; for old age is one of the divisions of it.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, what talk is this?' BOSWELL. 'I mean, Sir, the Sphinx's description of it;—morning, noon, and night. I would know night, as well as morning and noon.' JOHNSON. 'What, Sir, would you know what it is to feel the evils of old age? Would you have the gout? Would you have decrepitude?'—Seeing him heated, I would not argue any farther; but I was confident that I was in the right. I would, in due time, be a Nestor, an elder of the people; and there SHOULD be some difference between the conversation of twenty-eight and sixty-eight. A grave picture should not be gay. There is a serene, solemn, placid old age.

BOSWELL. 'I said to-day to Sir Joshua, when he observed that you TOSSED me sometimes—I don't care how often, or how high he tosses me, when only friends are present, for then I fall upon soft ground: but I do not like falling on stones, which is the case when enemies are present.—I think this a pretty good image, Sir.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, it is one of the happiest I have ever heard.'
A version, of sorts, of Michael Corleone's ' Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you, but don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever.'

I afterwards put the question to Johnson [i.e. the word he would use in place of 'transpire', as Lord Marchmont had asked Boswell]: 'Why, Sir, (said he,) GET ABROAD.' BOSWELL. 'That, Sir, is using two words.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, there is no end of this. You may as well insist to have a word for old age.' BOSWELL. 'Well, Sir, Senectus.' JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, to insist always that there should be one word to express a thing in English, because there is one in another language, is to change the language.'
Latin-ising English! Down with that sort of thing!

‘[I] think the more they are taught, the more modest they are. The French are a gross, ill-bred, untaught people; a lady there will spit on the floor and rub it with her foot. What I gained by being in France was, learning to be better satisfied with my own country. Time may be employed to more advantage from nineteen to twenty-four almost in any way than in travelling; when you set travelling against mere negation, against doing nothing, it is better to be sure; but how much more would a young man improve were he to study during those years. Indeed, if a young man is wild, and must run after women and bad company, it is better this should be done abroad, as, on his return, he can break off such connections, and begin at home a new man, with a character to form, and acquaintances to make. How little does travelling supply to the conversation of any man who has travelled; how little to Beauclerk!'
I'm not so sure, not these days anyway. Travelling may be better than studying at those ages. Or a mixture of both anyway. Taking a year out to go travelling during studies or go travelling for up to a year before commencing studies.

JOHNSON. 'Were I to live in the country, I would not devote myself to the acquisition of popularity; I would live in a much better way, much more happily; I would have my time at my own command.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, is it not a sad thing to be at a distance from all our literary friends?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you will by and by have enough of this conversation, which now delights you so much.'
So he's in favour of country-living here! Such vacillation, Dr Johnson!

'High people, Sir, (said he,) are the best; take a hundred ladies of quality, you'll find them better wives, better mothers, more willing to sacrifice their own pleasure to their children than a hundred other women. Tradeswomen (I mean the wives of tradesmen) in the city, who are worth from ten to fifteen thousand pounds, are the worst creatures upon the earth, grossly ignorant, and thinking viciousness fashionable. Farmers, I think, are often worthless fellows. Few lords will cheat; and, if they do, they'll be ashamed of it: farmers cheat and are not ashamed of it: they have all the sensual vices too of the nobility, with cheating into the bargain. There is as much fornication and adultery among farmers as amongst noblemen.'
I'm not so sure. Vide Jeffrey Epstein et al!


Tuesday, 21 April 2026

Letter to the editor: Defending rural Ireland from Varadkar's insults

@wwaycorrigan

My latest letter to the Irish Independent is in response to Leo Vardakar's comments about residents of rural Ireland.

Speaking on the Path to Power podcast, the former taoiseach said, 'We're (urban dwellers) the ones paying all the bills, and you're (rural dwellers) the ones in receipt of a lot of subsidies and a lot of tax benefits that other people don't get.'

His remarks came in the aftermath of almost a week of protests that saw farmers and hauliers block motorways and other essential infrastructure across Ireland in response to high fuel costs. 



Image is a screenshot of the Brendan Corrigan's letter to the Irish Independent in response to Leo Varadkar's insulting remarks about rural Ireland.
Rural Ireland is more necessary and relevant than Varadkar.
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