I’ve come across a novel called The Palm-Wine Drinkard, by the Nigerian writer Amos Tutuola, that is really remarkable because it is a kind of fantasy of West African mythology all told in West African English which, of course, is not the same as standard English.
WILLIAM GOLDINGI am astonished at the ease with which uninformed persons come to a settled, a passionate opinion when they have no grounds for judgment.
More William Golding Quotes
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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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He became absorbed beyond mere happiness as he felt himself exercising control over living things. He talked to them, urging them, ordering them. Driven back by the tide, his footprints became bays in which they were trapped and gave him the illusion of mastery.
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Percival was mouse-coloured and had not been very attractive even to his mother.
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How would I myself live in this proposed society? How long would it be before I went stark staring mad?
WILLIAM GOLDING -
This is our island. It’s a good island. Until the grownups come to fetch us we’ll have fun.
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Which is better–to have laws and agree, or to hunt and kill?
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He doesn’t mind if he dies… indeed, he would like to die; but yet he fears to fall. He would welcome a long sleep; but not at the price of falling to it.
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The thing is – fear can’t hurt you any more than a dream.
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We have a disharmony in our natures. We cannot live together without injuring each other.
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The beast was harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as possible.
WILLIAM GOLDING -
If faces were different when lit from above or below — what was a face? What was anything?
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I am by nature an optimist and by intellectual conviction a pessimist.
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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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Maybe there is a beast… maybe it’s only us.
WILLIAM GOLDING -
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.
WILLIAM GOLDING