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She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the first stage of my own death, the memories dropping off like gangrened limbs.
— Graham Greene
writer, novelist, playwright, journalist, screenwriter, autobiographer, children's writer, spy
🔗 Read on Wikipedia1904 – 1991
She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the first stage of my own death, the memories dropping off like gangrened limbs.
There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.
Life would go out in a 'fraction of a second' (that was the phrase), but all night he had been realizing that time depends on clocks and the passage of light. There were no clocks and the light wouldn't change. Nobody really knew how long a second of pain could be. It might last a whole purgatory--or for ever.
Life would go out in a 'fraction of a second' (that was the phrase), but all night he had been realizing that time depends on clocks and the passage of light. There were no clocks and the light wouldn't change. Nobody really knew how long a second of pain could be. It might last a whole purgatory--or for ever.
Human nature is not black and white but black and grey.
Heresy is another word for freedom of thought.
He felt the loyalty we feel to unhappiness - the sense that is where we really belong.
In human relationships, kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths.
I recognized my work for what it was--as unimportant a drug as cigarettes to get one through the weeks and years. If we are extinguished by death, as I still try to believe, what point is there in leaving some books behind any more than bottles, clothes, or cheap jewellry?
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.
A murderer is regarded by the conventional world as something almost monstrous, but a murderer to himself is only an ordinary man. It is only if the murderer is a good man that he can be regarded as monstrous.
The great advantage of being a writer is that you can spy on people. You're there, listening to every word, but part of you is observing. Everything is useful to a writer, you see - every scrap, even the longest and most boring of luncheon parties.
Innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
The world doesn't make any heroes anymore.
Against the beautiful and the clever and the successful, one can wage a pitiless war, but not against the unattractive: then the millstone weighs on the breast.
God created a number of possibilities in case some of his prototypes failed - that is the meaning of evolution.
Unhappiness in a child accumulates because he sees no end to the dark tunnel. The thirteen weeks of a term might just as well be thirteen years.
A solitary laugh is often a laugh of superiority.
They are always saying God loves us. If that's love I'd rather have a bit of kindness.
Sentimentality - that's what we call the sentiment we don't share.
There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.
No human being can really understand another, and no one can arrange another's happiness.
When we are not sure, we are alive.
Thrillers are like life, more like life than you are.
Nothing in life was as ugly as death.
If you have abandoned one faith, do not abandon all faith. There is always an alternative to the faith we lose. Or is it the same faith under another mask?
In Switzerland they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!
The economy of a novelist is a little like that of a careful housewife who is unwilling to throw away anything that might perhaps serve its turn.
A movie is not a book. If the source material is a book, you cannot be too respectful of the book. All you owe to the book is the spirit.
Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don't, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It's the same thing.
Failure too is a form of death.
People talk about the courage of condemned men walking to the place of execution: sometimes it needs as much courage to walk with any kind of bearing towards another person's habitual misery.
Success is more dangerous than failure, the ripples break over a wider coastline.
It is impossible to go through life without trust: that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself.
Media is just a word that has come to mean bad journalism.
In Italy, for 30 years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, they had 500 years of democracy and peace - and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.
My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course. Ball-point pens are only good for filling out forms on a plane.
We are all of us resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.
The truth has never been of any real value to any human being - it is a symbol for mathematicians and philosophers to pursue. In human relations kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths.
Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
A petty reason perhaps why novelists more and more try to keep a distance from journalists is that novelists are trying to write the truth and journalists are trying to write fiction.
Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector. It encourages a man to be expansive, even reckless, while lie detectors are only a challenge to tell lies successfully.
The moment comes when a character does or says something you hadn't thought about. At that moment he's alive and you leave it to him.
Success is more dangerous than failure, the ripples break over a wider coastline.
I have often noticed that a bribe has that effect - it changes a relation. The man who offers a bribe gives away a little of his own importance; the bribe once accepted, he becomes the inferior, like a man who has paid for a woman.
Point me out the happy man and I will point you out either egotism, selfishness, evil - or else an absolute ignorance.
Reality in our century is not something to be faced.
Morality comes with the sad wisdom of age, when the sense of curiosity has withered.
Ο θάνατος είναι πάντα από μόνος του μια απόδειξη ειλικρίνειας.
I can't talk you in terms of time --your time and my time are different
Eternity is said not to be an extension of time but an absence of time, and sometimes it seemed to me that her abandonment touched that strange mathematical point of endlessness, a point with no width, occupying no space.
No human being can really understand another, and no one can arrange another's happiness.
There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.
Have you seen a room from which faith has gone?...Like a marriage from which love has gone...And patience, patience everywhere like a fog.
The economy of a novelist is a little like that of a careful housewife who is unwilling to throw away anything that might perhaps serve its turn. Perhaps the comparison is closer to the Chinese cook who leaves hardly any part of a duck unserved.
It is the story-teller's task to elicit sympathy and a measure of understanding for those who lie outside the boundaries of State approval.
Morality comes with the sad wisdom of age, when the sense of curiosity has withered.
My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course. Ball-point pens are only good for filling out forms on a plane.
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear which is inherent in the human condition.
A petty reason perhaps why novelists more and more try to keep a distance from journalists is that novelists are trying to write the truth and journalists are trying to write fiction.
Heresy is only another word for freedom of thought.
The world is not black and white. More like black and grey.
That instinct for human character that is perhaps inherent in an imaginative writer.
Ο θάνατος είναι πάντα από μόνος του μια απόδειξη ειλικρίνειας.
A major character has to come somehow out of the unconscious.
The moment comes when a character does or says something you hadn't thought about. At that moment he's alive and you leave it to him.
You think it more difficult to turn air into wine than to turn wine into blood?
The trouble is I don't believe my unbelief.
Success is more dangerous than failure, the ripples break over a wider coastline.
[Re Hale] He only felt his loneliness after his third gin.
[Ida] "...It's a good world if you don't weaken."
We are all resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.
… it was the little things which tripped you up.
[Priest at Hale's cremation] "...our brother is at this moment reabsorbed in the universal spirit."
[After Hale's cremation] She came out of the crematorium, and there from the twin towers above her head fumed the very last of Fred, a thin stream of grey smoke from the ovens. Fred dropped indistinguishable grey ash on the pink blossoms: he became part of the smoke nuisance over London, and Ida wept.
Man is made by the places in which he lives...
[About Pinkie's character] The word murder conveyed no more to him than the word 'box', 'collar', 'giraffe'.
[About Pinkie's inability to empathise] The imagination hadn't awoken. That was his strength. He couldn't see through other people's eyes, or feel with their nerves. Only the music made him uneasy.
[Rose, taken out for the evening by Pinkie] She had an immense store of trivial memories and when she wasn't living in the future she was living in the past. As for the present – she got through that as quickly as she could, running away from things, running towards things, so that her voice was always a little breathless, her heart pounding at an escape or an expectation.
You can’t conceive, my child, nor can I or anyone the … appalling … strangeness of the mercy of God.
...the Boy sat silent. It was he this time who was being warned: life held the vitriol bottle and warned him: I'll spoil your looks.
...he knew there wasn't a soul in the mob he could trust – except perhaps Dallow. That didn't matter. You couldn't make mistakes when you trusted nobody.
Life was a series of complicated tactical exercises ...
The truth, he thought, has never been of any real value to any human being - it is a symbol for mathematicians and philosophers to pursue. In human relations kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths.
He knew everything in theory, nothing in practice... He knew the moves, he'd never played the game.
People talk," Ida Arnold said. "People talk all the time.
[Cubitt hurling insults at Pinky after he refuses to lend him money] The picture Cubitt drew had got nothing to do with him: it was like the pictures men drew of Christ, the image of their own sentimentality. ...He was like a professor describing to a stranger some place he had only read in books:...when all the time it was a country the stranger knew...
Perhaps his laughter saved them — it must be difficult to shoot a laughing man: you have to feel important to kill.
Its typical of Mexico, of the whole human race perhaps — violence in favour of an ideal and then the ideal lost but the violence just going on.
The old lady knelt, saying her 'Hail Mary'; She didn't believe — but among Catholics even the sceptical are courteous.
But the great moment was over — here in Orizaba it was like Galilee between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection — all the enthusiasm had been spent.
I suppose the love of life which periodically deserts most men was returning: like sexual desire, it moves in cycles.
There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.
When you visualized a man or woman carefully, you could always begin to feel pity— that was a quality God's image carried with it.
How often the priest had heard the same confession--Man was so limited: he hadn't even the ingenuity to invent a new vice: the animals knew as much. It was for this world that Christ had died: the more evil you saw and heard about you, the greater the glory lay around the death; it was too easy to die for what was good or beautiful, for home or children or civilization--it needed a God to die for the half-hearted and the corrupt.
Why, after all, should we expect God to punish the innocent with more life?
It is impossible to go through life without trust: that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself.
Thrillers are like life—more like life than you are … it’s what we’ve all made of the world.
A murderer is regarded by the conventional world as something almost monstrous, but a murderer to himself is only an ordinary man.... It is only if the murderer is a good man that he can be regarded as monstrous.
People don't like reality, they don't like common sense, until age forces it on them.
The hands of the guilty don't necessarily tremble; only in stories does a dropped glass betray agitation. Tension is more often shown in the studied action.
We never get accustomed to being less important to other people than they are to us — Martins felt the little jab of dispensability.
No danger anywhere, it seemed to Rollo Martins of that sudden reckless moment when the scent of hair or a hand against the side alters life.
If we had not been taught how to interpret the story of the Passion, would we have been able to say from their actions alone whether it was jealous Judas or the cowardly Peter who loved Christ?
A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment from which to look back or from which to look ahead.
To me comfort is like the wrong memory at the wrong place or time: if one is lonely one prefers discomfort.
Sometimes I see myself reflected too closely in other men for comfort, and then I have an enormous wish to believe in the saints, in heroic virtue.
The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belong to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity.
As long as one suffers one lives.
God save us always," I said, "from the innocent and the good.
Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
Heresy is another word for freedom of thought.
The hurt is in the act of possession; we are too small in mind and body to possess another person without pride or to be possessed without humiliation. In a way I was glad my wife had struck out at me again – I had forgotten her pain for too long, and this was the only kind of recompense I could give her. Unfortunately the innocent are always involved in any conflict. Always, everywhere, there is some voice crying from a tower.
He’ll always be innocent, you can’t blame the innocent, they are always guiltless. All you can do is control them or eliminate them. Innocence is a kind of insanity.
Sooner or later...one has to take sides – if one is to remain human.
What right had I to value her less than the bodies in the square? Suffering is not increased by numbers; one body can contain all the suffering the world can feel. I had judged like a journalist, in terms of quantity, and I had betrayed my own principles; I had become as engage as Pyle, and it seemed to me that no decision would ever be simple again.
In a mad world it always seems simpler to obey.
Reality in our century is not something to be faced.
Childhood was the germ of all mistrust. You were cruelly joked upon and then you cruelly joked. You lost the remembrance of pain through inflicting it.
Those who marry God can become domesticated too—it’s just as hum-drum a marriage as all the others. The word “Love” means a formal touch of the lips as in the ceremony of the Mass, and “Ave Maria” like “dearest” is a phrase to open a letter. This marriage like the world’s marriages was held together by habits and tastes shared in common between God and themselves—it was God’s taste to be worshipped and their taste to worship, but only at stated hours like a suburban embrace on a Saturday night.
One forgets the dead quite quickly; one doesn't wonder about the dead-what is he doing now, who is he with?
Cynicism is cheap—you can buy it at any Monoprix store—it’s built into all poor-quality goods.
However great a man’s fear of life, suicide remains the courageous act, the clear-headed act of a mathematician. The suicide has judged by the laws of chance—so many odds against one that to live will be more miserable than to die. His sense of mathematics is greater than his sense of survival. But think how a sense of survival must clamour to be heard at the last moment, what excuses it must present of a totally unscientific nature.
I have often noticed that a bribe...has that effect — it changes a relation. The man who offers a bribe gives away a little of his own importance; the bribe once accepted, he becomes the inferior, like a man who has paid for a woman.
We mustn’t complain too much of being comedians—it’s an honourable profession. If only we could be good ones the world might gain at least a sense of style. We have failed—that’s all. We are bad comedians, we aren’t bad men.
There is a point of no return, unremarked at the time, in most lives.
Champagne, if you are seeking the truth, is better than a lie detector. It encourages a man to be expansive, even reckless, while lie detectors are only a challenge to tell lies successfully.
I had very good dentures once. Some magnificent gold work. It’s the only form of jewelry a man can wear that women fully appreciate.
God...created a number of possibilities in case some of his prototypes failed — that is the meaning of evolution.
It was an evening which, by some mysterious combination of failing light and the smell of an unrecognised plant, brings back to some men the sense of childhood and of future hope and to others the sense of something which has been lost and almost forgotten.
Simplicity belonged by right to those who were native-born, those who could take the conditions of life, however bizarre, for granted.
Death will come in any case, and there is a long afterwards if the priests are right and nothing to fear if they are wrong.
Failure too is a form of death.
It was not the kind of surroundings in which any one with free will — if such a man existed — would have chosen to await death.
He gave her a bright fake smile; so much of life was a putting off of unhappiness for another time. Nothing was ever lost by delay. He had a dim idea that perhaps if one delayed long enough, things were taken out of one's hands altogether by death.
Our worst enemies here are not the ignorant and the simple, however cruel; our worst enemies are the intelligent and corrupt.
There's a virtue in slowness, which we have lost
Under my cloak, a fig for the King!
Can you hate something you don't believe in? And yet he called himself a free-thinker. What an impossible paradox, to be free and to be so obsessed.
At the end of what is called the "sexual life" the only love which has lasted is the love which has everything, every disappointment, every failure and every betrayal, which has accepted even the sad fact that in the end there is no desire so deep as the simple desire for companionship.
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.
Morality comes with the sad wisdom of age, when the sense of curiosity has withered.
