I am not famous for anything in particular. I am just famous.
In philosophy if you aren't moving at a snail's pace you aren't moving at all.
So we live; a spirit that broods and hovers over the continual death of time, the lost meaning, the unrecaptured moment, the unremembered face, until the final chop that ends all our moments and plunges that spirit back into the void from which it came.
It is difficult in life to be good, and difficult in art to portray goodness. Perhaps we don't know much about goodness.
Nothing is more beautifully and acceptably self-assertive than good singing.
evil soon makes tools out of those who don't hate it.
... a less than perfect meddling in the spiritual world can breed monsters for other people.
youth is a marvelous garment
We are all prisoner, but the name of our cure is not freedom
How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see the worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.
Every human soul has seen, perhaps before their birth, pure forms such as justice, temperance, beauty and all the great moral qualities which we hold in honour. We are moved towards what is good by the faint memory of these forms, simple and calm and blessed, which we saw once in a pure, clear light, being pure ourselves.
The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man.
People have obsessions and fears and passions which they don't admit to. I think every character is interesting and has extremes. It's the novelist privilege to see how odd everyone is.
Coffee, unless it is very good and made by somebody else, is pretty intolerable at any time.
I think the novel is essentially a comic form (tragedy is for the theatre), not meaning by that full of jokes, but that it is about the absurd detail of human life, the way in which one cannot fully understand what is happening. Life is muddle and jumble and ends inconclusively, and when this is presented with great comic art the sorrows of human life can be truthfully conveyed; one is moved by the spectacle, and feels that something truthful has been told in a magic way.
I live, I live, with an absolutely continuous sense of failure. I am always defeated, always. Every book is the wreck of a perfect idea. The years pass and one has only one life. If one has a thing at all one must do it and keep on and on and on trying to do it better.
We re all muddlers. The thing is to see is when one's got to stop muddling.
We need a moral philosophy which can speak significantly of Freud and Marx and out of which aesthetic and political views can be generated. We need a moral philosophy in which the concept of love, so rarely mentioned now, can once again be made central.
There is nothing like early promiscuous sex for dispelling life's bright mysterious expectations.
People who boast of happy marriages are, I submit, usually self-deceivers, if not actually liars.
The bereaved cannot communicate with the unbereaved.
I think philosophy is extremely good training for anyone who wants to do anything. Although that is an idea which people may speak scornfully of now, I think it does teach one to
To lose somebody is to lose not only their person but all those modes and manifestations into which their person has flowed outwards; so that in losing a beloved one may find so many things, pictures, poems, melodies, places lost too: Dante, Avignon, a song of Shakespeare's, the Cornish sea.
to be understood is not a human right. Even to understand oneself is not a human right.
In almost every marriage there is a selfish and an unselfish partner. A pattern is set up and soon becomes inflexible, of one person always making the demands and one person always giving way.
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