Freya Stark Dame Freya Madeleine Stark DBE was

Freya Stark Dame Freya Madeleine Stark, DBE was a British travel writer. Freya Stark was born in Paris, where her parents were studying art. Her mother, Flora, was an Italian of Polish/German descent, her father, Robert, an English painter from Devonshire. In more. .

“ Freya Stark: The great and almost only comfort about being a woman is that one can always pretend to be more stupid than one is and no one is surprised. #Women

“ Freya Stark: I have met charming people, lots who would be charming if they hadn't got a complex about the British and everyone has pleasant and cheerful manners and I like most of the American voices. On the other hand I don't believe they have any God and their hats are frightful. On balance I prefer the Arabs. #America

“ Freya Stark: Absence is one of the most useful ingredients of family life, and to dose it rightly is an art like any other. #Family

“ Freya Stark: On the whole, age comes more gently to those who have some doorway into an abstract world-art, or philosophy, or learning-regions where the years are scarcely noticed and the young and old can meet in a pale truthful light. #Success

“ Freya Stark: Perhaps the best function of parenthood is to teach the young creature to love with safety, so that it may be able to venture unafraid when later emotion comes; the thwarting of the instinct to love is the root of all sorrow and not sex only but divinity itself is insulted when it is repressed. To disapprove, to condemn --the human soul shrivels under barren righteousness. #Parents and Parenting

“ Freya Stark: Pain and fear and hunger are effects of causes which can be foreseen and known: but sorrow is a debt which someone else makes for us. #Sorrow

“ Freya Stark: There can be no happiness if the things we believe in are different from the things we do. #Happiness

“ Freya Stark: The slightest living thing answers a deeper need than all the works of man because it is transitory. It has an evanescence of life, or growth, or change: it passes, as we do, from one stage to the another, from darkness to darkness, into a distance where we, too, vanish out of sight. A work of art is static; and its value and its weakness lie in being so: but the tuft of grass and the clouds above it belong to our own travelling brotherhood. #Life and Living

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