Insecurity is the worst sense that lovers feel; sometimes the most humdrum desireless marriage seems better. Insecurity twists meanings and poisons trust.
They had been corrupted by money, and he had been corrupted by sentiment. Sentiment was the more dangerous, because you couldn’t name its price. A man open to bribes was to be relied upon below a certain figure, but sentiment might uncoil in the heart at a name, a photograph, even a smell remembered.
God is love. I don't say the heart doesn't feel a taste of it, but what a taste. The smallest glass of love mixed with a pint pot of ditch-water. We wouldn't recognize that love. It might even look like hate. It would be enough to scare us - God's love.
When I replied that I loved her too in that way, I was the liar, not she, for I never lose the consciousness of time: to me the present is never here: it is always last year or next week.
The problem of pretending to be alive.
Unfortunately the innocent are always involved in any conflict. Always, everywhere, there is some voice crying from a tower.
At one with the One, it didn't mean a thing besides a glass of Guinness on a sunny day.
The world was in her heart already, like the small spot of decay in a fruit.
What have we all got to expect that we allow ourselves to be so lined with disappointment?
He was like a child with haemophilia: every contact drew blood.
My fellow journalists called themselves correspondents; I preferred the title of reporter. I wrote what I saw. I took no action -- even an opinion is a kind of action.
My passion for Sarah had killed simple lust forever. Never again would I be able to enjoy a woman without love.
You cannot love without intuition.
Lies had deserted me, and I felt as lonely as though they had been my only friends.
A writer doesn't write for his readers, does he? Yet he has to take elementary precautions all the same, to make them comfortable.
I've caught belief like a disease. I've fallen into belief like I fell in love.
I could never have been a pacifist. To kill a man was surely to grant him an immeasurable benefit. Oh yes, people always, everywhere, loved their enemies. It was their friends they preserved for pain and vacuity.
A major character has to come somehow out of the unconscious.
So much in writing depends on the superficiality of one's days.
A ruling passion gives to a shelf of novels the unity of a system.
Our heroes are simple: they are brave, they tell the truth, they are good swordsmen and they are never in the long run really defeated. That is why no later books satisfy us like those which were read to us in childhood - for those promised a world of great simplicity of which we knew the rules, but the later books are complicated and contradictory with experience; they are formed out of our own disappointing memories.
Who knows whether there may not be a moment in childhood when the world changes forever, like making a face when the clock strikes?
A movie is not a book. If the source material is a book, you cannot be too respectful of the book. All you owe to the book is the spirit.
I know one thing you don't. I know the difference between Right and Wrong. They didn't teach you that at school.' Rose didn't answer; the woman was quite right: the two words meant nothing to her. Their taste was extinguished by stronger foods--Good and Evil.
Love taught me that your honour did but jest.
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