I just enjoy translating, it’s like opening one’s mouth and hearing someone else’s voice emerge.
IRIS MURDOCHStarting a novel is opening a door on a misty landscape; you can still see very little but you can smell the earth and feel the wind blowing.
More Iris Murdoch Quotes
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I don’t think I can marry, I’m not fit for it, I’m not real enough. That’s the trouble. I’m a puppet that’s realised what’s wrong with itself and it’s horrible. I’m propped up somewhere all alone, watching the real people go past. I’m propped up crying in a corner.
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I have nobody in the world. I’ll kill myself. That’s best. Everyone will say, It’s for the best that she killed herself, she’s better off dead. I hate myself so much I could spend hours and hours just screaming with hatred and with the pain of it, oh the pain of it.
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What I needed with all my starved and silent soul was just that particular way of shouting back at the world.
IRIS MURDOCH -
Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is.
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People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.
IRIS MURDOCH -
Every man needs two women, a quiet home-maker, and a thrilling nymph.
IRIS MURDOCH -
This sort of quiet gazing, which was like a feeding of the heart.
IRIS MURDOCH -
Only the very greatest art invigorates without consoling.
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I felt a deep grief that crouched and stayed still as if it was afraid to move.
IRIS MURDOCH -
One of the secrets of a happy life is continous small treats.
IRIS MURDOCH -
Youth is a marvelous garment.
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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.
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Hegel says that Truth is a great word and the thing is greater still. With Dave we never seemed to get past the word.
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Perhaps there was an intimacy which did not need words.
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Jealousy is the most dreadfully involuntary of all sins.
IRIS MURDOCH