We live in a fantasy world, a world of illusion. The great task in life is to find reality says Iris Murdoch. But given the state of the world, is it wise?
IRIS MURDOCHViolence is born of the desire to escape oneself.
More Iris Murdoch Quotes
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The theatre is certainly a place for learning about the brevity of human glory: oh all those wonderful glittering absolutely vanished pantomime! Now I shall abjure magic and become a hermit : put myself in a situation where I can honestly say that I have nothing else to do but to learn to be good.
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Every man needs two women, a quiet home-maker, and a thrilling nymph.
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Time, like the sea, unties all knots.
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This sort of quiet gazing, which was like a feeding of the heart.
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We defend ourselves with descriptions and tame the world by generalizing.
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There is no substitute for the comfort supplied by the utterly taken-for-granted relationship.
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I feel half faded away like some figure in the background of an old picture.
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Her eyes, which refused to meet mine, had the defensive coldness of those who are determined to lose hope.
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Freedom may be a value in politics, but it is not a value in morals.
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White magic is black magic. A less than perfect meddling in the spiritual world can breed monsters for other people, and demons used for good can hang around and make mischief afterwards.
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What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.
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Reading and writing and the preservation of language and its forms and the kind of eloquence and the kind of beauty which the language is capable of is terribly important to the human beings because this is connected to thought.
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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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Love is the Extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
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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.
IRIS MURDOCH