Perhaps when distant people on other planets pick up some wavelength of ours all they hear is a continuous scream.
IRIS MURDOCHFor most of us, for almost all of us, truth can be attained, if at all, only in silence. It is in silence that the human spirit touches the divine.
More Iris Murdoch Quotes
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There is a gulf fixed between those who can sleep and those who cannot. It is one of the greatest divisions of the human race.
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Perhaps there was an intimacy which did not need words.
IRIS MURDOCH -
We are all the judges and the judged, victims of the casual malice and fantasy of others, and ready sources of fantasy and malice in our turn. And if we are sometimes accused of sins of which we are innocent, are there not also other sins of which we are guilty and of which the world knows nothing?
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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.
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In philosophy if you aren’t moving at a snail’s pace you aren’t moving at all.
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Let us not waste love, it is rare enough.
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However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously ever after.
IRIS MURDOCH -
The talk of lovers who have just declared their love is one of life’s most sweet delights. Each vies with the other in humility, in amazement at being so valued. The past is searched for the first signs and each one is in haste to declare all that he is so that no part of his being escapes the hallowing touch.
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I feel I’m at the end of something – everything is going to be different – and terrible.
IRIS MURDOCH -
Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved.
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Of course reading and thinking are important but, my God, food is important too.
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One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can be inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.
IRIS MURDOCH -
A bad review is even less important than whether it is raining in Patagonia.
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Love doesn’t think like that. All right, it’s blind as a bat- Bats have radar. Yours doesnt seem to be working.
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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.
IRIS MURDOCH