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 MURDOCHOne should go easy on smashing other people’s lies. Better to concentrate on one’s own.
More Iris Murdoch Quotes
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Time, like the sea, unties all knots.
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Every artist is an unhappy lover. And unhappy lovers want to tell their story.
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Every persisting marriage is based on fear’, said Peregrine. ‘Fear is fundamental, you dig down in human nature and what’s at the bottom? Mean spiteful cruel self-regarding fear, whether it makes you to put the foot in it or whether it makes you to cower.
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Those who hope, by retiring from the world, to earn a holiday from human frailty, in themselves and others, are usually disappointed.
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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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In philosophy if you aren’t moving at a snail’s pace you aren’t moving at all.
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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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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.
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Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved.
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As we live our precarious lives on the brink of the void, constantly coming closer to a state of nonbeing, we are all too often aware of our fragitlity.
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Between saying and doing, many a pair of shoes is worn out.
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How huge it is, how empty, this great space for which I have been longing all my life. Still no letters.
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But one must do something about the past. It doesn’t just cease to be. It goes on existing and affecting the present, and in new and different ways, as if in some other dimension it too were growing.
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I feel I’m at the end of something – everything is going to be different – and terrible.
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We are all prisoner, but the name of our cure is not freedom.
IRIS MURDOCH