A Quote by Philip Guedalla

Biography is a very definite region bounded on the north by history, on the south by fiction, on the east by obituary, and on the west by tedium. — © Philip Guedalla
Biography is a very definite region bounded on the north by history, on the south by fiction, on the east by obituary, and on the west by tedium.
Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east.
I could not sleep when I got on such a hunt for an idea until I had caught it; ...This was a kind of passion with me, and it has stuck by me; for I am never easy now, when I am handling a thought, till I have bounded it north, and bounded it south, and bounded it east, and bounded it west.
It has been said that Canada is bounded 'on the north by gold, on the west by the East, on the east by history - and on the south by friends'.* We hope that will always be the case and we hope it will be the case not only with respect to the United States, your immediate neighbor to the south, but with respect to all your southern neighbors - and ours - who are bound by the great forces of geography and history which are distinctive to the New World.
Our North East region will prosper when it is better connected to South East Asia, and when the North East becomes our bridge to South East Asia, we will be closer to realising our hopes for India and ASEAN ties.
Provence, just one relatively small part of France, is almost twice the size of Wales, with double the population. It's a region of the south that stretches from the borders of Monaco and Italy in the east to Hyeres in the west, the Alps in the north to the sparkling Mediterranean in the south.
The Americans are a very lucky people. They're bordered to the north and south by weak neighbors, and to the east and west by fish.
America has no north, no south, no east, no west. The sun rises over the hills and sets over the mountains, the compass just points up and down, and we can laugh now at the absurd notion of there being a north and a south. We are one and undivided.
This boa, the American columns, are being besieged between Basra and other towns north, west, south and west of Basra… Now even the American command is under siege. We are hitting it from the north, east, south and west. We chase them here and they chase us there. But at the end we are the people who are laying siege to them. And it is not them who are besieging us.
The principal or highest part of the mountain having changed its direction to east and west, I ascended it in such manner as to leave its most elevated ranges to the south and travelled north west over a very rough and broken country generally covered with snow.
In a compass, we got north, south, east and west, right? But in between that, you got things like north-east - now that, to me, is where real life is. Everybody's life is not straight: it's often 30 degrees to your left, or in the hardest part of the reach.
Do not focus too much on the east and forget the west. And do not ignore the south, to speak for the north. What happens in the east has effects in the north, as the west has in the south. And do not focus on one species and ignore the other. Or love your father but ignore your mother, or love your sister but ignore your brother. Do not forget each other. We are all part of each other. We are all ONE.
I would want to conceive of philosophy as grounded in the very long humanist tradition that is the best of the West, which is open to the East and North and South.
North was only a direction indicated by a compass--if a man had one, that is, for otherwise there was no north or south or east or west; there was only the brooding desolation.
I have heard something said about allegiance to the South. I know no South, no North, no East, no West, to which I owe any allegiance.
Heaven has a north and a south and an east and a west. Consequently, it must be a planet.
Isabel Wilkerson's The Warmth of Other Suns is an American masterpiece, a stupendous literary success that channels the social sciences as iconic biography in order to tell a vast story of a people's reinvention of itself and of a nation-the first complete history of the Great Black Migration from start to finish, north, east, west.
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