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“He read political books. They gave him phrases which he could only speak to himself and use on Shama. They also revealed one region after another of misery and injustice and left him feeling more helpless and more isolated than ever. Then it was that he discovered the solace of Dickens. Without difficulty he transferred characters and settings to people and places he knew. In the grotesques of Dickens everything he feared and suffered from was ridiculed and diminished, so that his own anger, his own contempt became unnecessary, and he was given strength to bear the most difficult part of his day: dressing in the morning, that daily affirmation of faith in oneself, which at times for him was almost like an act of sacrifice.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“How ridiculous were the attentions the weak paid one another in the shadow of the strong!”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“How terrible it would have been, at this time, to be without it; to have died among the Tulsis, amid the squalour of that large, disintegrating and indifferent family; to have left Shama and the children among them, in one room; or worse, to have lived without even attempting to lay claim to one’s portion of the earth; to have lived and died as one had been born, unnecessary and unaccommodated.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“Change had come over him without his knowing. There had been no precise point at which the city had lost its romance and promise, no point at which he had begun to consider himself old, his career closed, and his visions of the future became only visions of Anand's future. Each realization had been delayed and had come, not as a surprise, but as a statement of a condition long accepted.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“In his original design the solicitor's clerk seemed to have forgotten the need for a staircase to link both the floors, and what he had provided had the appearance of an afterthought. Doorways had been punched in the eastern wall and a rough wooden staircase - heavy planks on an uneven frame with one warped unpainted banister, the whole covered with a sloping roof of corrugated iron - hung precariously at the back of the house, in striking contrast with the white-pointed brickwork of the front, the white woodwork and the frosted glass of doors and windows.
For this house Mr.Biswas had paid five thousand five hundred dollars.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“Some lesser husbands built a latrine on the hillside.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“On the front cover of Newsweek reviews "A House for Mr. Biswas" as "a marvelous prose epic that matches the best 19th century novels for richness of comic insight and final, tragic power.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“Though no one recognized his strength, Anand was among the strong. His satirical sense kept him aloof. At first this was only a pose, and imitation of his father. But satire led to contempt, and at Shorthills contempt, quick, deep, inclusive, became part of his nature. It led to inadequacies, to self-awareness and a lasting loneliness. But it made him unassailable.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“I don’t know why they still building houses," Mr Biswas said. "Nobody don’t want a house these days. They just want a coal barrel. One coal barrel for one person. Whenever a baby born just get another coal barrel. You wouldn’t see any houses anywhere then. Just a yard with five or six coal barrels standing up in two or three rows.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“The weeks before he died, Mr Mohun Biswas, a journalist of Sikkim Street, St James , Port of Spain, was sacked. He had been ill for some time. In less than a year he had spent more than nine weeks at the Colonial Hospital and convalesced at home for even longer. When the doctor advised him to take a complete rest the 'Trinidad Sentinel' had no choice. It gave Mr Biswas three months' notice and continued, up to the time of his death, to supply him every morning with a free copy of the paper.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“found, to his surprise, that he had put an end to their threats.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“attributed the decay of Hindu society in Trinidad to the rise of the timorous, weak, non-beating class of husband.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“Mr Biswas saw himself in many Samuel Smiles heroes: he was young, he was poor, and he fancied he was struggling. But there always came a point when resemblance ceased. The heroes had rigid ambitions and lived in countries where ambitions could be pursued and had a meaning. He had no ambition, and in this hot land, apart from opening a shop or buying a motorbus, what could he do? What could he invent?”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House For Mr Biswas

“Hari came early, neither interested nor antagonistic, just constipatedly apathetic.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“no true effort is ever wasted”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“And, partly to have peace on Sundays, and partly because the combination of the word “Sundayâ€� with the word “schoolâ€� suggested denial and a spoiling of pleasure, he sent Anand and Savi to Sunday school.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“The world carried no witness to Mr Biswas’s birth and early years.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House For Mr Biswas

“Misir’s first story was about a man who had been out of work for months and was starving. His five children were starving; his wife was having another baby. It was December and the shops were full of food and toys. On Christmas eve the man got a job. Going home that evening, he was knocked down and killed by a motorcar that didn’t stop.

'Helluva thing," Mr Biswas said. ‘I like the part about the car not stopping.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“Every man and woman he saw, even at a distance, gave him a twist of panic. But he had already grown used to that; it had become part of the pain of living. Then, as he cycled, he discovered a new depth to this pain. Every object he had not seen for twenty-four hours was part of his whole and happy past. Everything he now saw became sullied by his fear, every field, every house, every tree, every turn in the road, every bump and subsidence. So that, by merely looking at the world, he was progressively destroying his present and his past.”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas