Only one novel is a novel: that is a successful novel.
WILLIAM GOLDINGGraham Greene at 82 years old was still writing, and I don’t think anyone can deny the force, the expertise, and the unique quality of his writing, if you take his complete oeuvre.
More William Golding Quotes
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If I blow the conch and they don’t come back; then we’ve had it. We shan’t keep the fire going. We’ll be like animals. We’ll never be rescued.” “If you don’t blow, we’ll soon be animals anyway.
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The greatest ideas are the simplest.
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One’s intelligence may march about and about a problem, but the solution does not come gradually into view. One moment it is not. The next it is there.
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The rules!” shouted Ralph, “you’re breaking the rules!” “Who cares?
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Together, joined in effort by the burden, they staggered up the last steep of the mountain. Together, they chanted One! Two! Three! and crashed the log on to the great pile. Then they stepped back, laughing with triumphant pleasure.
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We’re not savages. We’re English.
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The writer probably knows what he meant when he wrote a book, but he should immediately forget what he meant when he’s written it.
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Graham Greene at 82 years old was still writing, and I don’t think anyone can deny the force, the expertise, and the unique quality of his writing, if you take his complete oeuvre.
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To be in a world which is a hell, to be of that world and neither to believe in or guess at anything but that world is not merely hell but the only possible damnation: the act of a man damning himself. It may be
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No human endeavour can ever be wholly good… it must always have a cost.
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If faces were different when lit from above or below — what was a face? What was anything?
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Worse than madness. Sanity.
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I hope my books make statements about our general condition.
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A crowd of grade-three thinkers, all shouting the same thing, all warming their hands at the fire of their own prejudices, will not thank you for pointing out the contradictions in their beliefs. Man is a gregarious animal, and enjoys agreement as cows will graze all the same way on the side of a hill.
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I am here; and here is nowhere in particular.
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Language fits over experience like a straight-jacket.
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The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers….Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.
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I believe man suffers from an appalling ignorance of his own nature. I produce my own view in the belief that it may be something like the truth.
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Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in!
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Art is partly communication, but only partly. The rest is discovery.
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The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away.
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Percival was mouse-coloured and had not been very attractive even to his mother.
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If faces were different when lit from above or below — what was a face? What was anything?
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The beast was harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as possible.
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It wasn’t until I was 37 that I grasped the great truth that you’ve got to write your own books and nobody else’s, and then everything followed from there.
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There were no words, and no movements but the tearing of teeth and claws.
WILLIAM GOLDING