We are all prisoner, but the name of our cure is not freedom.
IRIS MURDOCHCoffee, unless it is very good and made by somebody else, is pretty intolerable at any time.
More Iris Murdoch Quotes
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Let us not waste love, it is rare enough.
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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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Love is the Extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
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There is no beyond, there is only here, the infinitely small, infinitely great and utterly demanding present.
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Jealousy is the most dreadfully involuntary of all sins.
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I think being a woman is like being Irish, Everyone says you’re important and nice, but you take second place all the time.
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Starting 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.
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What an extraordinary satisfaction there is in cleaning things! (Does the satisfaction depend on ownership? I suspect so.
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People have obsessions and fears and passions which they don’t admit to. I think every character is interesting and has extremes. It’s the novelist privilege to see how odd everyone is.
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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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Perhaps when distant people on other planets pick up some wavelength of ours all they hear is a continuous scream.
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There is no substitute for the comfort supplied by the utterly taken-for-granted relationship.
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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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Time, like the sea, unties all knots.
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I took a deep breath, however, and followed my rule of never speaking frankly to women in moments of emotion. No good ever comes of this.
IRIS MURDOCH