Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.
GRAHAM GREENEWe can love with our minds, but can we love only with our minds? Love extends itself all the time, so that we can love even with our senseless nails: we love even with our clothes, so that a sleeve can feel a sleeve.
More Graham Greene Quotes
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In Switzerland they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!
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People who like quotes love meaningless generalizations.
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I can’t talk you in terms of time –your time and my time are different
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An autobiography is only ‘a sort of life’ – it may contain less errors of fact than a biography, but it is of necessity even more selective: it begins later and it ends prematurely.
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There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in…We should be thankful we cannot see the horrors and degradations lying around our childhood, in cupboards and bookshelves, everywhere.
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The truth has never been of any real value to any human being – it is a symbol for mathematicians and philosophers to pursue. In human relations kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths.
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We are all of us resigned to death: it’s life we aren’t resigned to.
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He was impregnably armored by his good intentions and his ignorance.
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Sooner or later; one has to take sides. If one is to remain human.
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There was always another side to a joke, the side of the victim.
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You needn’t be so scared. Love doesn’t end. Just because we don’t see each other.
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In a mad world it always seems simpler to obey.
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It’s a good world if you don’t weaken.
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We can love with our minds, but can we love only with our minds? Love extends itself all the time, so that we can love even with our senseless nails: we love even with our clothes, so that a sleeve can feel a sleeve.
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All good novelists have bad memories. What you remember comes out as journalism; what you forget goes into the compost of the imagination.
GRAHAM GREENE






