Thomas More says that the imperial troops, for their enjoyment, are roasting live babies on spits. Oh, he… — Hilary Mantel

One tradesman the same as the next? Not in the real world. Any man with a steady hand and a cleaver can call himself a butcher: but without the smith, where does he get that cleaver? Without the man who works in metal, where are your hammers, your scythes, your sickles, scissors and planes? Your arms and armor, your arrowheads, your pikes and your guns? Where are your ships at sea and their anchors? Where are your grappling hooks, your nails, latches, hinges, pokers and tongs? Where are your spits, kettles, trivets, your harness rings, buckles and bits? Where are your knives?

What was England, before Wolsey? A little offshore island, poor and cold.

The cardinal used to say, the English will forgive a king anything, until he tries to tax them.