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object:Lawrence Durrell
class:person
--- WIKI
Lawrence George Durrell (27 February 1912 7 November 1990) was an expatriate British novelist, poet, dramatist, and travel writer. He was the eldest brother of naturalist and writer Gerald Durrell. Born in India to British colonial parents, he was sent to England at the age of eleven for his education. He did not like formal education, but started writing poetry at age 15. His first book was published in 1935, when he was 23. In March 1935 he and his wife, and his mother and younger siblings, moved to the island of Corfu. Durrell spent many years thereafter living around the world. His most famous work is The Alexandria Quartet, a tetralogy published between 1957 and 1960. The best-known novel in the series is the first, Justine. Beginning in 1974, Durrell published The Avignon Quintet, using many of the same techniques. The first of these novels, Monsieur, or the Prince of Darkness, won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize in 1974. The middle novel, Constance, or Solitary Practices, was nominated for the 1982 Booker Prize. By the end of the century, Durrell was a bestselling author and one of the most celebrated writers in England. Durrell supported his writing by working for many years in the Foreign Service of the British government. His sojourns in various places during and after World War II (such as his time in Alexandria, Egypt) inspired much of his work. He married four times, and had a daughter with each of his first two wives.

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Lawrence Durrell

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   1 Lawrence Durrell

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  265 Lawrence Durrell

1:Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other. ~ Lawrence Durrell,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Love is poetry plus biology. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
2:Youth is the age of despairs. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
3:The real teacher is endurance. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
4:Words, the acid-bath of words. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
5:Art like life is an open secret. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
6:It is not peace we seek but meaning. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
7:Comedians are the nearest to suicide. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
8:Music is only love looking for words. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
9:Truth is what most contradicts itself. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
10:Each of our five senses contains an art. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
11:Gamblers and lovers really play to lose. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
12:Our inventions mirror our secret wishes. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
13:Truth disappears with the telling of it. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
14:i imagine therefore I belong and am free. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
15:paederasty is somehow no qualification of ~ Lawrence Durrell,
16:The memory of man is as old as misfortune ~ Lawrence Durrell,
17:It is not love that is blind, but jealousy. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
18:Old age is an insult. It's like being smacked. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
19:Truth is a woman. That is why it is enigmatic. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
20:If you have tendencies you've got to have scope ~ Lawrence Durrell,
21:Music was invented to confirm human loneliness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
22:A critic is a lug-worm in the liver of literature. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
23:One learns nothing from those who return our love. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
24:...man is only an extension of the spirit of place. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
25:She looked like a statue of pride hanging its head. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
26:He always puzzled me —except when I had him in my arms. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
27:Poetry is what happens when an anxiety meets a technique. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
28:Love joins and then divides. How else would we be growing? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
29:Prohibitions create the desire they were intended to cure. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
30:Religion is simply art bastardized out of all recognition. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
31:History is an endless repetition of the wrong way of living ~ Lawrence Durrell,
32:History is an endless repetition of the wrong way of living. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
33:... history - the lamp which illumines national character... ~ Lawrence Durrell,
34:Whatever the heart desires, it purchases at the cost of soul ~ Lawrence Durrell,
35:A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
36:All culture corrupts, but French culture corrupts absolutely. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
37:Poverty is a great cutter-off and riches a great shutter-off. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
38:Sorrow is implicit in love as gravitation is implicit in mass. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
39:I'm trying to die correctly, but it's very difficult, you know. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
40:It is the duty of every patriot to hate his country creatively. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
41:Travel can be one of the most rewarding forms of introspection. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
42:And morality is nothing if it is merely a form of good behavior. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
43:the indifference of the natural world to the constructions of art ~ Lawrence Durrell,
44:The richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
45:We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
46:Every man is made of clay and diamond, and no woman can nourish both. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
47:if you intend to try and work, not to sit under the Tree of Idleness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
48:Let us define 'man' as a poet perpetually conspiring against himself. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
49:Let us go to bed together and ignore the loutish reality of the world. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
50:A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
51:Two things spread quickly: gossip and a forest fire”—Cypriot proverb.) I ~ Lawrence Durrell,
52:No one can go on being a rebel too long without turning into an autocrat. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
53:Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
54:The telephone is a modern symbol for communications which never take place ~ Lawrence Durrell,
55:To be the equal of reality you must learn how to ignore it without danger. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
56:A woman's best love letters are always written to the man she is betraying. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
57:It only takes one match to ignite a haystack, or one remark to fire a mind. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
58:The realisation of one's own death is the point at which one becomes adult. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
59:They say that if you get bored enough with calamity you can learn to laugh. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
60:Everyone loathes his own country and countrymen if he is any sort of artist. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
61:Everything really desirable has come about because of, or in spite of, wine! ~ Lawrence Durrell,
62:All artists today are expected to cultivate a little fashionable unhappiness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
63:What do you believe? You never say anything. At the most you sometimes laugh. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
64:To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
65:We should tackle reality in a slightly jokey way, otherwise we miss its point. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
66:Brazil is bigger than Europe, wilder than Africa, and weirder than Baffin Land. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
67:In marriage they legitimized despair; every kiss is the conquest of a repulsion. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
68:Life is like a cucumber. One minute it's in your hand, the next it's up you ass. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
69:Like all young men I set out to be a genius, but mercifully laughter intervened. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
70:Her efforts to achieve herself had led her always towards, and not away from him. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
71:In her there was a pliancy, a resilience which was Oriental — a passion to serve. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
72:One word ‘love’ has to do service for so many different kinds of the same animal. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
73:Life is more complicated than we think, yet far simpler than anyone dares to imagine ~ Lawrence Durrell,
74:These are not, you see, the sort of distinctions of which women are usually capable. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
75:Most people lie and let life play upon them like the tepid discharges of a douche-bag. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
76:Shyness has laws you can only give yourself; tragically to those who least understand. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
77:The sense of truth no matter how subjective is necessary for the experience of beauty. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
78:El dolor mismo es el único elemento de la memoria; porque el placer termina en sí mismo ~ Lawrence Durrell,
79:He loved the desert because there the wind blew out one's footsteps like candle flames. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
80:Of women, the most we can say, not being Frenchmen, is that they are burrowing animals. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
81:Science is the poetry of the intellect and poetry the science of the heart's affections. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
82:Shyness has laws: you can only give yourself, tragically, to those who least understand. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
83:How grudging memory is, and how bitterly she clutches the raw material of her daily work. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
84:(‘Life is more complicated than we think, yet far simpler than anyone dares to imagine’.) ~ Lawrence Durrell,
85:But there are more than five sexes and only demotic Greek seems to distinguish among them. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
86:Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
87:Truth is a matter of direct apprehension-you can't climb a ladder of mental concepts to it. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
88:Bir kadınla üç şey yapabilirsin; ya onu seversin ya onun için acı çekersin ya da onu yazarsın. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
89:Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
90:Is it any wonder that I absent-mindedly take the entrance marked Aliens Only whenever I enter? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
91:He hablado de la inutilidad del arte, pero no he dicho la verdad sobre el consuelo que procura. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
92:The effective in art is what rapes the emotions of your audience without nourishing its values. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
93:Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me and then show me the place where he was hanged. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
94:Düşünürün görevi düşünceler ileri sürmektir, oysa azizin işi susmak, bulduğu şeyi söylememektir. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
95:For all drama creates bondage, and the actor is only significant to the degree that he is bound. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
96:Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me, and then show me the place where he was hanged. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
97:The lion-dust of desert: prophets’ tombs turned to zinc and copper at sunset on the ancient lake. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
98:La culpa se apresura siempre hacia su complemento, el castigo, y sólo allí encuentra satisfacción. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
99:There is always a philosophy behind the misadventures of men, even if they are unaware of it.’ And ~ Lawrence Durrell,
100:...books everywhere piled up in heaps, the rare companions of a solitude not self-imposed but sought. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
101:But I love to feel events overlapping each other, crawling over one another like wet crabs in a basket ~ Lawrence Durrell,
102:But then is not life itself a fairy-tale which we lose the power of apprehending as we grow? No matter. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
103:This world represents the promise of a unique happiness which we are not well-enough equipped to grasp. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
104:I love the French edition with its uncut pages. I would not want a reader too lazy to use a knife on me. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
105:It's unthinkable not to love - you'd have a severe nervous breakdown. Or you'd have to be Philip Larkin. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
106:this wonder of an Englishman who spoke indifferent but comprehensible Greek.… Before we parted he drew a ~ Lawrence Durrell,
107:You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
108:Cuesta mucho luchar contra el deseo del corazón; todo lo que quiere obtener, lo compra al precio del alma. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
109:I see artists as a great battalion moving through paint, words, music towards cosmological interpretation. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
110:she had been raped by one of her relations. One cannot help smiling at the commonplaceness of the thought. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
111:I suppose the secret of his success is in his tremendous idleness which almost approaches the supernatural. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
112:What are stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
113:The cousin was made of different stuff; his biting air of laziness and superiority made one want to kick him. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
114:A puritan culture’s conception of art is something which will endorse its morality and flatter its patriotism. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
115:The heaviest impact of the work of art is in the guts. Art does not reason. It manhandles you and changes you. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
116:Pensaba y sufría mucho, pero le faltaba la fuerza necesaria para atreverse, primer requisito del que hace algo. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
117:An idea is like a rare bird which cannot be seen. What one sees is the trembling of the branch it has just left. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
118:He thought and suffered a good deal but he lacked the resolution to dare--the first requisite of a practitioner. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
119:It is hard to fight with one's heart's desires; whatever it wishes to get, it purchases at the cost of the soul. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
120:It was already dark and the city was drifting like a bed of seaweed towards the lighted cafés of the upper town. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
121:The heaviest impact of the work of art is in the guts. Art does not reason. It manhandles you and changes you... ~ Lawrence Durrell,
122:There is never enough light.” To which I responded without thought: “For women perhaps. We men are less exigent. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
123:A million muffin-eating moralists were waiting, not for us, Brother Ass, but for the plucky and tedious Trollope! ~ Lawrence Durrell,
124:Its women shall be the voluptuaries not of pleasure but of pain, doomed to hunt for what they least dare to find. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
125:Words are the mirrors of our discontents merely; they contain all the huge unhatched eggs of the world's sorrows. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
126:If one falls in love with a mask when one is masked oneself… which of you will first have the courage to raise it? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
127:There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
128:It’s only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdry that you can get tenderness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
129:A novel should be an act of divination by entrails, not a careful record of a game of pat-ball on some vicarage lawn! ~ Lawrence Durrell,
130:Now stiff on a pillar with a phallic air nelson stylites in Trafalgar square reminds the British what once they were. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
131:It takes a lot of energy and a lot of neurosis to write a novel. If you were really sensible, you'd do something else. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
132:Some characters in the world are marked down for self-destruction, and to these no amount of rational argument can appeal. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
133:I am quite alone. I am neither happy nor unhappy; I lie suspended like a hair or a feather in the cloudy mixtures of memory. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
134:We are the children of our landscape; it dictates behavior and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
135:I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe! ~ Lawrence Durrell,
136:Love is like trench warfare - you cannot see the enemy, but you know he is there and that it is wiser to keep your head down. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
137:People only see in us the contemptible skirt-fever which rules our actions but completely miss the beauty-hunger underlying it. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
138:Yet the presence of death always refreshes experience thus--that is its function: to help us deliberate on the novelty of time. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
139:One night he woke to the soughing of great wings and saw a bat-like creature with the head of a violin resting upon the bedrail. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
140:But that is what islands are for; they are places where different destinies can meet and intersect in the full isolation of time. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
141:There are two positions available to us – either crime which renders us happy, or the noose, which prevents us from being unhappy. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
142:There are only three things to be done with a woman’ said Clea once. ‘You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
143:I don’t believe one reads to escape reality. A person reads to confirm a reality he knows is there, but which he has not experienced. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
144:impressive symbols of a wealth which is powerless to bring true leisure or peace of mind for it demands everything of the human soul. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
145:The seeds of future events are carried within ourselves. They are implicit in us and unfold according to the laws of their own nature ~ Lawrence Durrell,
146:I long to be musical in body and mind. I want style, consort. Not the little mental squirts as if through the ticker-tape of the mind. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
147:Other countries may offer you discoveries in manners or lore or landscape; Greece offers you something harder—the discovery of yourself. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
148:Não há múmias, pedaços de tecido colados ao osso, medas de sal ou cadáveres que jamais estivessem nem metade dos mortos que estamos hoje. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
149:They flower spontaneously out of the demands of our natures - and the best of them lead us not only outward in space, but inward as well. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
150:We were like mourners at an invisible cenotaph during the two minutes’ silence which commemorates an irremediable failure of the human will. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
151:think she was also thinking, perhaps, of Justine, up there in the big house among the tall candles and the oil-paintings by forgotten masters. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
152:God did not create us, nor did He wish us to be created. We are the work of a lesser deity, a demiurge, who wrongly believed himself to be God. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
153:I have done so many things in my life," she said to the mirror. "Evil things, perhaps. But never unattentively, never wastefully...was I wrong? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
154:Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
155:Even “time is money” comes into the picture; and then, if you think that money is excrement for the Freudian, you understand that time must be also! ~ Lawrence Durrell,
156:"Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
157:I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
158:When one is fully extended by day and exhausted every evening one lives differently, without the weight of yesterday or tomorrow on one’s shoulders. I ~ Lawrence Durrell,
159:Nature had combined in him the features of a degenerate pope and the torpor of a crocodile, and to these had added a voice of unconscionable harshness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
160:I hunt everywhere for a life worth living. Perhaps if I could die or go mad it would provide a focus for all the feelings I have which find no proper outlet. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
161:Somewhere in the heart of experience there is an order and a coherence which we might purprise if we were attentive enough, loving enough, or patient enough. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
162:The cocktail party - as the name itself indicates - was originally invented by dogs. They are simply bottom-sniffings raised to the rank of formal ceremonies. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
163:The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
164:The artist's work constitutes the only satisfactory relationship he can have with his fellow men since he seeks his real friends among the dead and the unborn. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
165:The most tender, the most tragic of illusions is perhaps to believe that our actions can add or subtract from the total quantity of good and evil in the world. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
166:Lovers can find nothing to say to each other that has not been said and unsaid a thousand times over. Kisses were invented to translate such nothings into wounds ~ Lawrence Durrell,
167:He sits all day on the terrace of the Brokers' Club watching women pass, with the restless eye of someone endlessly shuffling through an old soiled pack of cards. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
168:He felt that his mind had become a battle-ground for the forces of good and evil and that his task was to strain every nerve to recognize them, but it was not easy. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
169:We had not a taste in common. Our characters and predispositions were wholly different, and yet in the magical ease of this friendship we felt something promised us. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
170:Art—the meaning of the pattern of our common actions in reality. The cloth-of-gold that hides behind the sackcloth of reality, forced out by the pain of human memory. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
171:Any concentration of the will displaces life and gives it bias in motion. Reality, he believed, was always trying to copy the imagination of man, from which it derived. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
172:Balthazar sighed and said "Truth naked and unashamed. That's a splendid phrase. But we always see her as she seems, never as she is. Each man has his own interpretation. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
173:Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will-whatever we may think. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
174:And Melissa would giggle and turn away as we walked to watch the minarets glisten like pearls upon the morning light and the bright children’s kites take the harbour wind. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
175:A diary is the last place to go if you wish to seek the truth about a person. Nobody dares to make the final confession to themselves on paper: or at least, not about love. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
176:Basle, Zurich, Baden, Paris — the flickering of steel rails over the arterial systems of Europe’s body: steel ganglia meeting and dividing away across mountains and valleys. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
177:Minds dismembered by their sexual part’ Balthazar had said once ‘never find peace until old age and failing power as persuade them that silence and quietness are not hostile. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
178:For those of us who feel deeply and who are at all conscious of the inextricable tangle of human thought there is only one response to be made - ironic tenderness and silence. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
179:Odd, isn't it? He really was the right man for her in a sort of way; but then as you know, it is a law of love that the so-called 'right' person always comes to soon or too late. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
180:Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
181:The steward, according to custom, had stopped all the clocks. This, in the language of Narouz, said "Your stay with us is so brief, let us not be reminded of the flight of the hours." ~ Lawrence Durrell,
182:There is no pain compared to that of loving a woman who makes her body accessible to one and yet who is incapable of delivering her true self -- because she does not know where to find it. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
183:This weird translation of feelings into gestures which belied words and words which belied gestures, confused and disoriented her. She needed someone to tell her whether to laugh or to cry. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
184:If you think of yourself as a sleeping city for example… what? You can sit quiet and hear the processes going on, going about their business; volition, desire, will, cognition, passion, conation. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
185:And I saw her as a sad thirtieth child of Valentine that fell, not as Lucifer rebelling against God, but because she too passionately wanted to be united with him! All things in excess become sin. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
186:God’s real and subtle nature must be clear of distinctions: a glass of spring-water, tasteless, odourless, merely refreshing: and surely its appeal would be to the few, the very few, real contemplatives? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
187:No history much? Perhaps. Only this ominous Dark beauty flowering under veils, Trapped in the spectrum of a dying style: A village like an instinct left to rust, Composed around the echo of a pistol-shot. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
188:I think the kind of unexpected I really love is when you open books and the actual way of writing is different and interesting. Like reading Virginia Woolf for the first time or Lawrence Durrell for the first time. ~ Lalla Ward,
189:She gave me the impression of someone engaged in giving a series of savage caricatures of herself — but this is common to most lonely people who feel that their true self can find no correspondence in another. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
190:Landscape-tones: brown to bronze, steep skyline, low cloud, pearl ground with shadowed oyster and violet reflections. The lion-dust of desert: prophets’ tombs turned to zinc and copper at sunset on the ancient lake. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
191:was horrified too at the banality of her dancing, which was bad beyond measure; yet watching her make those gentle and ineffectual movements of her slim hands and feet (the air of a gazelle harnessed to a water-wheel) ~ Lawrence Durrell,
192:after all the work of the philosophers on his soul and the doctors on his body, what can we really say we know about a man? That he is, when all is said and done, just a passage for liquids and solids, a pipe of flesh. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
193:Underneath an artist's preoccupations with sex, society, religion, etc. (all the staple abstractions that allow the forebrain to chatter) there is a soul tortured beyond endurance by the lack of tenderness in the world. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
194:I meant of course the whole portentous scrimmage of sex itself, the act of penetration which could lead a man to despair for the sake of a creature with two breasts and le croissant as the picturesque Levant slang has it. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
195:These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
196:This is what is meant by possession - to be passionately at war for the qualities in one another to contend for the treasures of each other’s personalities. But how can such a war be anything but destructive and hopeless? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
197:These are the moments which are not calculable, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory, like wonderful creatures, unique of their own kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
198:There was some unresolved inner knot which she wished to untie and which was quite beyond my skill as a lover or a friend. Of course. Of course. I knew as much as could be known of the psychopathology of hysteria at that time. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
199:I have been thinking about the girl I met last night in the mirror: dark on the marble-ivory white: glossy black hair: deep suspiring eyes in which one's glances sink because they are nervous, curious, turned to sexual curiosity. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
200:For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life; in this way, not to evade destiny, as do the ordinary people, but to fulfill it in its true potential - the imagination. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
201:A drunken whore walks in a dark street at night, shedding snatches of song like petals. Was it in this that Anthony heard the heart-numbing strains of the great music which persuaded him to surrender for ever to the city he loved? The ~ Lawrence Durrell,
202:Ancient lands, in all their prehistoric intactness: lake-solitudes hardly brushed by the hurrying feet of the centuries where the uninterrupted pedigrees of pelican and ibis and heron evolve their slow destinies in complete seclusion. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
203:Perhaps language was the key—it was hard to say. Certainly I was astonished to find how few Cypriots knew good English, and how few Englishmen the dozen words of Greek which cement friendships and lighten the burdens of everyday life. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
204:These notes, however they may be read, are intended only as a painstaking affectionate commentary on a world into which I have been born to share my most solitary moments — those of coitus — with Justine. I can get no nearer to the truth. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
205:For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life; in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential - the imagination. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
206:For years one has to put up with the feeling that people do not care, really care, about one; then one day with growing alarm, one realizes that it is God who does not care; and not merely that he does not care, he does not care one way or the other. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
207:Lovers are never equally matched - do you think? One always overshadows the other and stunts his or her growth so that the overshadowed one must always be tormented by a desire to escape, to be free to grow. Surely this is the only tragic thing about love? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
208:A good doctor, and in a special sense the psychologist, makes it quite deliberately, slightly harder for the patient to recover too easily. You do this to see if his psyche has any real bounce in it, for the secret of healing is in the patient and not the doctor. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
209:Conversely the British saw a one-dimensional figure in the Cypriot; they did not realize how richly the landscape was stocked with the very sort of characters who rejoice the English heart in a small country town—the rogue, the drunkard, the singer, the incorrigible. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
210:Slowly the bluish spring moon climbs the houses, sliding up the minarets into the clicking palm-trees, and with it the city seems to uncurl like some hibernating animal dug out of its winter earth, to stretch and begin to drink in the music of the three-day festival. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
211:the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors... For from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
212:we who have travelled much and loved much: we who have -- I will not say suffered for we have always recognized through suffering our own self-sufficiency -- only we appreciate the complexities of tenderness, and understand how narrowly love and friendship are related ~ Lawrence Durrell,
213:The richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time." Lawrence Durrell in "Clea," book three of the epic Alexandria Quartet - which I am reading for the third time since my early 20s...relishing its superb prose and enigmatic insights into the nature of love. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
214:These are the moments which possess the writer, not the lover, and which live on perpetually. One can return to them time and time again in memory, or use them as a fund upon which to build the part of one's life which is writing. One can debauch them with words, but one cannot spoil them. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
215:The national characteristics... the restless metaphysical curiosity, the tenderness of good living and the passionate individualism. This is the invisible constant in a place with which the ordinary tourist can get in touch just by sitting quite quietly over a glass of wine in a Paris bistro. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
216:Yes, one day I found myself writing down with trembing fingers the four words with which every story-teller since the world began has staked his slender claim to the attention of his fellow-men. Words which presage simply the old story of an artist coming of age. I wrote: 'Once upon a time... ~ Lawrence Durrell,
217:This is nothing of medical interest — a small chill. Diseases are not interested in those who want to die.’ And then with one of those characteristic swerves of association, like a swallow turning in mid-air she added, ‘Oh! Nessim, I have always been so strong. Has it prevented me from being truly loved? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
218:I suppose events are simply a sort of annotation of our feelings--the one might be deduced from the other. Time carries us (boldly imagining that we are discrete ego's modeling our own personal futures)--time carries us forward by the momentum of those feelings inside us of which we ourselves are least conscious. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
219:We live" writes Pursewarden somewhere, "lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time - not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation of reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
220:'We live' writes Pursewarden somewhere 'lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time — not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation oа reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
221:With all its imperfections lying heavy on its head, I can’t help being attached to it because in the writing of it I first heard the sound of my own voice, lame and halting perhaps, but nevertheless my very own. This is an experience no artist ever forgets —the birth cry of a newly born baby of letters, the genuine article. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
222:The steward, according to custom, had stopped all the clocks. This, in the language of Narouz, said, "Your stay with us is so brief, let us not be reminded of the flight of the hours. God made eternity. Let us escape from the despotism of time altogether." These ancient and hereditary politenesses filled Nessim with emotion. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
223:He would wake to see the towers and minarets printed on the exhausted, dust-powdered sky, and see as if en montage on them the giant footprints of the historical memory which lies behind the recollections of individual personality, its mentor and guide: indeed its inventor, since man is only an extension of the spirit of place. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
224:Very few people realise that sex is a psychic and not a physical act. The clumsy coupling of human beings is simply a biological paraphrase of this truth - a primitive method of introducing minds to each other, engaging them. But most people are stuck in the physical aspect, unaware of the poetic rapport which it so clumsily tries to teach. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
225:No one thing can explain everything; though everything can illuminate something. God, I must be still drunk. If God were anything he would be an art. Sculpture or medicine. But the immense extension of knowledge in this our age, the growth of new sciences, makes it almost impossible for us to digest the available flavours and put them to use. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
226:and all at once it seemed that past and present had joined again without any divisions in it, and that all my memories and impressions had ordered themselves into one complete pattern whose metaphor was always the shining city of the disinherited — a city now trying softly to spread the sticky prismatic wings of a new-born dragonfly on the night. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
227:The whole Mediterranean, the sculpture, the palm, the gold beads, the bearded heroes, the wine, the ideas, the ships, the moonlight, the winged gorgons, the bronze men, the philosophers - all of it seems to rise in the sour, pungent taste of these black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
228:If you are born of the artist tribe it is a waste of time to try and function as a priest. You have to be faithful to your angle of vision, and at the same time recognise its partiality. There is a kind of perfection to be achieved in matching oneself to one's capacities at every level. This must, I imagine, do away with strivings, and with illusions too. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
229:am recalling now how during that last spring (forever) we walked together at full moon, overcome by the soft dazed air of the city, the quiet ablutions of water and moonlight that polished it like a great casket. An aerial lunacy among the deserted trees of the dark squares, and the long dusty roads reaching away from midnight to midnight, bluer than oxygen. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
230:Neden gülüyorsun? En ciddi şeylere bile her zaman gülersin. Ah, öyle ya, üzülmen mi gerekir?"

Beni biraz olsun tanısaydı, bizim gibi her şeyi derinlemesine duyan, insan düşüncesinin içinden çıkılmaz düğümünün tam anlamıyla bilincinde olan insanlar için verilecek tek bir yanıt -alaylı bir sevecenlik ve suskunluk- olduğunu daha sonra kendisi de anlardı. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
231:There is nothing stranger than to love somebody who is mad, or who is intermittently so. The weight, the strain, the anxiety is a heavy load to bear – if only because among these confusional states and hysterias loom dreadful probabilities like suicide or murder. It shakes one’s hold also on one’s own grasp of reality; one realises how precariously we manage ~ Lawrence Durrell,
232:In the great quietness of these winter evenings there is one clock: the sea. Its dim momentum in the mind is the fugue upon which this writing is made. Empty cadences of sea-water licking its own wounds, sulking along the mouths of the delta, boiling upon those deserted beaches– empty, forever empty under the gulls: white scribble on the grey, munched by clouds. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
233:I realized then the truth about all love: that it is an absolute which takes all or forfeits all. The other feelings, compassion, tenderness and so on, exist only on the periphery and belong on the constructions of society and habit. But she herself- austere and merciless Aphrodite-is a pagan. it is not our brains or instincts which she picks-but our very bones. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
234:In her, as an Alexandrian, licence was in a curious way a form of self-abnegation, a travesty of freedom; and if I saw her as an exemplar of the city it was not of Alexandria, or Plotinus that I was forced to think, but of the sad thirtieth child of Valentinus who fell, ‘not like Lucifer by rebelling against God, but by desiring too ardently to be united to him’.* ~ Lawrence Durrell,
235:None of the great religions have done more than exclude, throw out a long range of prohibitions. But prohibitions create the desire they are intended to cure. We of this Cabal say: indulge but refine. We are enlisting everything in order to make man's wholeness match the wholeness of the universe--even pleasure, the destructive granulation of the mind in pleasure. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
236:Try and travel with the eyes of the spirit wide open, and not too much factual information. To tune in, without reverence, idly -- but with real inward attention. It is to be had for the feeling, that mysterious sense of rapport, of identity with the ground. You can extract the essence of a place once you know how. If you just get as still as a needle you'll be there. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
237:An artist does not have a personal life as we do, he hides it, forcing us to go to his books if we wish to touch the true source of his feelings. Underneath all his preoccupations with sex, society, religion, etc. (all the staple abstractions which allow the forebrain to chatter) there is, quite simply, a man tortured beyond endurance by the lack of tenderness in the world. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
238:Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will - whatever we may think. They flower spontaneously out of the demands of our natures - and the best of them lead us not only outwards in space, but inwards as well. Travel can be one of the most rewarding forms of introspection.... ~ Lawrence Durrell,
239:I have decided to leave Clea’s last letter un-answered. I no longer wish to coerce anyone, to make promises, to think of life in terms of compacts, resolutions, covenants. It will be up to Clea to interpret my silence according to her own needs and desires, to come to me if she has need or not, as the case may be. Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
240:She took kisses like so many coats of paint […] how long and how vainly I searched for excuses which might make her amorality if not palatable at lest understandable. I realize now the time I wasted in this way; instead of enjoying her and turning aside from these preoccupations with the thought, ‘She is untrustworthy as she is beautiful. She takes love as plants do water, lightly, thoughtlessly. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
241:[Henry Miller] was such a scribomaniac that even when he lived in the same house as Lawrence Durrell they often exchanged letters. For most of his life, Henry wrote literally dozens of letters a day to people he could have easily engaged in conversation - and did. The writing process, in short, was essential. As it is to all real writers, writing was life and breath to him. He put out words as a tree puts out leaves. ~ Erica Jong,
242:Every variety of the name of flesh, old flesh quailing upon aged bones, or the unquenched flesh of boys and women on limbs infirm with the desires that could be represented in effigy but not be slaked except in mime — for they were desires engendered in the forests of the mind, belonging not to themselves but to remote ancestors speaking through them. Lust belongs to the egg and its seat is below the level of psyche. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
243:In India when I was a boy they had great big green lizards there, and if you shouted or shot them their tails would fall off. There was only one boy in the school who could catch lizards intact. No one knew quite how he did it. He had a special soft way of going up to them, and he’d bring them back with their tails on. That strikes me as the best analogy I can give you. To try and catch your poem without its tail falling off. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
244:Capodistria sits remote from it all, in his immaculate shark-skin coat with the coloured silk handkerchief lolling at his breast. His narrow shoes gleam. His friends call him Da Capo because of a sexual prowess reputed to be as great as his fortune — or his ugliness. He is obscurely related to Justine who says of him: ‘I pity him. His heart has withered in him and he has been left with the five senses, like pieces of a broken wineglass. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
245:…I once found a list of diseases as yet unclassified by medical science, and among these there occurred the word Islomania, which was described as a rare but by no means unknown affliction of spirit. There are people…who find islands somehow irresistible. The mere knowledge that they are on an island, a little world surrounded by the sea, fills them with an indescribable intoxication. These born “islomanes”…are direct descendents of the Atlanteans ~ Lawrence Durrell,
246:The great prayer wound its way into my sleepy consciousness like a serpent, coil after shining coil of words—the voice of the muezzin sinking from register to register of gravity—until the whole morning seemed dense with its marvelous healing powers, the intimations of a grace undeserved and unexpected, impregnating that shabby room where Melissa lay, breathing lightly as a gull, rocked upon the oceanic splendours of a language she would never know. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
247:famous novel about us all, things began in exactly this way. I was strangely echoing his protagonist, summoned to the bedside of a dying friend (this was the difference) who had important things to reveal to him. Sylvie was there, too, in the centre of the picture as she always has been. Her madness was touchingly described. Of course in a way the characters were travesties of us; but the incidents were true enough and so was Verfeuille, the old chateau ~ Lawrence Durrell,
248:The slither of tyres across the waves of the desert under a sky blue and frost-bound in winter; or in summer a fearful lunar bombardment which turned the sea to phosphorus — bodies shining like tin, crushed in electric bubbles; or walking to the last spit of sand near Montaza, sneaking through the dense green darkness of the King’s gardens, past the drowsy sentry, to where the force of the sea was suddenly crippled and the waves hobbled over the sand-bar. Or ~ Lawrence Durrell,
249:he had discovered for himself the uselessness of having opinions and in consequence made a habit of usually saying the opposite of what he thought in a joking way. He was an ironist, hence he appeared often to violate good sense: hence too his equivocal air, the apparent frivolity with which he addressed himself to large subjects. This sort of serious clowning leaves footmarks in conversation of a peculiar kind. His little sayings stayed like the pawmarks of a cat in a pat of butter. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
250:There are some characters in this world who are marked down for self-destruction, and to these no amount of rational argument can appeal. For my part Justine always reminded me of a somnambulist discovered treading the perilous leads of a high tower; any attempt to wake her with a shout might lead to disaster. One could only follow her silently in the hope of guiding her gradually away from the great shadowy drops which loomed up on every side. But by some curious paradox it was these ~ Lawrence Durrell,
251:Africa, which they had somehow visualized as an extension of Europe -- an extension of terms, of references to a definitive past -- had already asserted itself as something different: a forbidding darkness where the croaking ravens matched the dry exclamations of spiritless men, and rationed laughter fashioned from breath simply the chattering of baboons. Sometimes they captured someone -- a solitary frightened man out hunting hares -- and were amazed to see that he was human like themselves. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
252:that only there, in the silences of the painter or the writer can reality be reordered, reworked and made to show its significant side. Our common actions in reality are simply the sackcloth covering which hides the cloth-of-gold — the meaning of the pattern. For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life; in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential — the imagination. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
253:A není nové země, příteli, žádného nového moře; poněvadž město půjde pořád s tebou,
navěky budeš bloudit po stejných ulicích,
na stejných předměstích ducha ustydnou tvoje sny a v stejném domě pak i zešedivíš -
město je vězení.
Odejít nelze nikam, vždycky se ocitneš
znovu na tomto místě, a žádná loď tě neodveze
od tebe samotného. Pošetilče, tys ještě nepochopil,
že jak jsi promarnil svůj život tady
na tomto kousku světa, je stejně promarněný
i všude jinde - na celé širé zemi? ~ Lawrence Durrell,
254:Love is horribly stable, and each of us is only allotted a certain portion of it, a ration. It is capable of appearing in an infinity of forms and attaching itself to an infinity of people. But it is limited in quantity, can be used up, become shopworn and faded before it reaches its true object. For its destination lies somewhere in the deepest regions of the psyche where it will come to recognize itself as self-love, the ground upon which we build the sort of health of the psyche. I do not mean egoism or narcissism. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
255:The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride, or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point—for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
256:A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and these findings about the penetralia of sexual life gave the writer a sort of justification for a native acerbity. Afterwards, when love left him in the lurch and he became the wounded man who was such a trial to us all, he took refuge in a laughter and cynicism which were far from his real nature – a secretive one. He had at last discovered that love had no pith in it, and that the projection of one’s own feelings upon the image of a beloved was in the long run an act of self-mutilation. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
257:Look at all the Eastern writers who've written great Western literature. Kazuo Ishiguro. You'd never guess that The Remains of the Day or Never Let Me Go were written by a Japanese guy. But I can't think of anyone who's ever done the reverse-- any Westerner who's written great Eastern literature. Well, maybe if we count Lawrence Durrell - does the Alexandria Quartet qualify as Eastern literature?"
"There is a very simple test," said Vikram. "Is it about bored, tired people having sex?"
"Yes," said the convert, surprised.
"Then it's western. ~ G Willow Wilson,
258:Suddenly at the end of the great couloir my vision is sharpened by a pale disjunctive shudder as a bar of buttercup-yellow thickening gradually to a ray falls slowly through the dark masses of cloud to the east. The ripple and flurry of the invisible colonies of birds around us increases. Slowly, painfully, like a half-open door the dawn is upon us, forcing back the darkness. A minute more and a stairway of soft kingcups slides smoothly down out of heaven to touch in our horizons, to give eye and mind an orientation in space which it has been lacking. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
259:The oranges were more plentiful than usual that year. They glowed in their arbours of burnished green leaf like lanterns, flickering up there among the sunny woods. It was as if they were eager to celebrate our departure from the little island -- for at last the long-awaited message from Nessim had come, like a summons back to the Underworld. A message which was to draw me back inexorably to the one city which for me always hovered between illusion and reality, between the substance and the poetic images which its very name aroused in me.... Alexandria, the capital of memory! ~ Lawrence Durrell,
260:out of the trembling pearly edges of the sky there swam slowly a high cluster of reddish basalt blocks, carved into the vague semblance (like a face in the fire) of a sphinx tortured by thirst; and there, gibbering in the dark shade of a rock, the little party waited to conduct them to the Sheik’s tents — four tall lean men, made of brown paper, whose voices cracked at the edges of meaning with thirst, and whose laughter was like fury unleashed. To them they rode — into the embrace of arms like dry sticks and the thorny clicking of an unfamiliar Arabic in which Narouz did all the talking and explaining. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
261:Pienso en la época en la que el mundo conocido apenas existía para nosotros cuatro; los días eran simplemente espacios entre sueños, espacios entre capas móviles de tiempo, de actividades, de charla intrascendente... Un flujo y reflujo de asuntos insignificantes, un husmear cosas muertas, fuera de todo ambiente real, que no nos llevaba a ninguna parte, que no nos exigía nada salvo lo imposible: ser nosotros mismos. Justine decía que habíamos quedado atrapados en la proyección de una voluntad demasiado poderosa y deliberada para ser humana, el campo de atracción que Alejandría presentaba hacia los que había elegido para ser sus símbolos vivientes.

Lawerence Durrell. Justine. <3 ~ Lawrence Durrell,
262:It is a pity indeed to travel and not get this essential sense of landscape values. You do not need a sixth sense for it. It is there if you just close your eyes and breathe softly through your nose; you will hear the whispered message, for all landscapes ask the same question in the same whisper. 'I am watching you -- are you watching yourself in me?' Most travelers hurry too much...the great thing is to try and travel with the eyes of the spirit wide open, and not to much factual information. To tune in, without reverence, idly -- but with real inward attention. It is to be had for the feeling...you can extract the essence of a place once you know how. If you just get as still as a needle, you'll be there. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
263:Bessie was News, Leaders, and Gossip; Enid was Features, Make-up and general Sub. Whenever they were at a loss for copy they would mercilessly pillage ancient copies of Punch or Home Chat. An occasional hole in the copy was filled with a ghoulish smudge - local block-making had clearly indicated that somewhere a poker-work fanatic had gone quietly out of his mind. In this way the Central Balkan Herald was made up every morning and then delivered to the composition room where the chain-gang quickly reduced it to gibberish. MINISTER FINED FOR KISSING IN PUBIC. WEDDING BULLS RING OUT FOR PRINCESS. QUEEN OF HOLLAND GIVES PANTY FOR EX-SERVICE MEN. MORE DOGS HAVE BABIES THIS SUMMER IN BELGRADE. BRITAINS NEW FLYING-GOAT. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
264:It was cold in the street and I crossed to the lighted blaze of shops in Rue Fuad. In a grocer’s window I saw a small tin of olives with the name Orvieto on it, and overcome by a sudden longing to be on the right side of the Mediterranean, entered the shop: bought it: had it opened there and then: and sitting down at a marble table in that gruesome light I began to eat Italy, its dark scorched flesh, hand-modelled spring soil, dedicated vines. I felt that Melissa would never understand this. I should have to pretend I had lost the money. I did not see at first the great car which she had abandoned in the street with its engine running. She came into the shop with swift and resolute suddenness and said, with the air of authority that Lesbians, or women with money, assume with the obviously indigent: ‘What did you mean by your remark about the antinomian nature of irony?’ — or some such sally which I have forgotten. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
265:In these days Melissa's absorbed and provoking gentleness had all the qualities of a rediscovered youth. Her long uncertain fingers - I used to feel them moving over my face when she thought I slept, as if to memorize the happiness we had shared. In her there was a pliancy, a resilience which was Oriental - a passion to serve. My shabby clothes - the way she picked up a dirty shirt seemed to engulf it with an overflowing solicitude; in the morning I found my razor beautifully cleaned and even the toothpaste laid upon the brush in readiness. Her care for me was a goad, provoking me to give my life some sort of shape and style that might match the simplicity of hers. Of her experiences in love she would never speak, turning from them with a weariness and distaste which suggested that they had been born of necessity rather than desire. She paid me the comlpiment of saying: "For the first time I am not afraid to be light-headed or foolish with a man". ~ Lawrence Durrell,
266:autonomous act of growing up. And the sensation is of something having noiselessly exploded inside each of them. Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining his or her own experience; her gratitude alone, stretching away towards a mistaken donor, creates the illusion that she communicates with her fellow, but this is false. The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point — for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.’ How characteristic and how humourless a delineation of the magical gift: and yet how true… of Justine! ‘Every man ~ Lawrence Durrell,
267:Idle, she writes, to imagine falling in love as a correspondence of minds, of thoughts,; it is a simultaneous firing of two spirits engaged in the autonomous act of growing up. And the sensation is of something having noiselessly exploded inside each of them. Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining her or her own experience; her gratitude alone, stretching away towards a mistaken donor, creates the illusion that she communicates with her fellow, but this is false. The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point--for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
268:Idle’ she writes ‘to imagine falling in love as a correspondence of minds, of thoughts; it is a simultaneous firing of two spirits engaged in the autonomous act of growing up. And the sensation is of something having noiselessly exploded inside each of them. Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining his or her own experience; her gratitude alone, stretching away towards a mistaken donor, creates the illusion that she communicates with her fellow, but this is false. The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point — for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
269:All cultures seem to find a slightly alien local population to carry the Hermes projection. For the Vietnamese it is the Chinese, and for the Chinese it is the Japanese. For the Hindu it is the Moslem; for the North Pacific tribes it was the Chinook; in Latin America and in the American South it is the Yankee. In Uganda it is the East Indians and Pakistanis. In French Quebec it is the English. In Spain the Catalans are "the Jews of Spain". On Crete it is the Turks, and in Turkey it is the Armenians. Lawrence Durrell says that when he lived in Crete he was friends with the Greeks, but that when he wanted to buy some land they sent him to a Turk, saying that a Turk was what you needed for a trade, though of course he couldn't be trusted.
This figure who is good with money but a little tricky is always treated as a foreigner even if his family has been around for centuries. Often he actually is a foreigner, of course. He is invited in when the nation needs trade and he is driven out - or murdered - when nationalism begins to flourish: the Chinese out of Vietnam in 1978, the Japanese out of China in 1949, the Jankees out of South America and Iran, the East Indians out of Uganda under Idi Amin, and the Armenians out of Turkey in 1915-16. The outsider is always used as a catalyst to arouse nationalism, and when times are hard he will always be its victim as well. ~ Lewis Hyde,

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WORDNET



--- Overview of noun lawrence_durrell

The noun lawrence durrell has 1 sense (no senses from tagged texts)
              
1. Durrell, Lawrence Durrell, Lawrence George Durrell ::: (English writer of Irish descent who spent much of his life in Mediterranean regions (1912-1990))


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun lawrence_durrell

1 sense of lawrence durrell                      

Sense 1
Durrell, Lawrence Durrell, Lawrence George Durrell
   INSTANCE OF=> writer, author
     => communicator
       => person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
         => organism, being
           => living thing, animate thing
             => whole, unit
               => object, physical object
                 => physical entity
                   => entity
         => causal agent, cause, causal agency
           => physical entity
             => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun lawrence_durrell
                                    


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun lawrence_durrell

1 sense of lawrence durrell                      

Sense 1
Durrell, Lawrence Durrell, Lawrence George Durrell
   INSTANCE OF=> writer, author




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun lawrence_durrell

1 sense of lawrence durrell                      

Sense 1
Durrell, Lawrence Durrell, Lawrence George Durrell
  -> writer, author
   => abstractor, abstracter
   => alliterator
   => authoress
   => biographer
   => coauthor, joint author
   => commentator, reviewer
   => compiler
   => contributor
   => cyberpunk
   => drafter
   => dramatist, playwright
   => essayist, litterateur
   => folk writer
   => framer
   => gagman, gagster, gagwriter
   => ghostwriter, ghost
   => Gothic romancer
   => hack, hack writer, literary hack
   => journalist
   => librettist
   => lyricist, lyrist
   => novelist
   => pamphleteer
   => paragrapher
   => poet
   => polemicist, polemist, polemic
   => rhymer, rhymester, versifier, poetizer, poetiser
   => scenarist
   => scriptwriter
   => space writer
   => speechwriter
   => tragedian
   => wordmonger
   => word-painter
   => wordsmith
   HAS INSTANCE=> Aiken, Conrad Aiken, Conrad Potter Aiken
   HAS INSTANCE=> Alger, Horatio Alger
   HAS INSTANCE=> Algren, Nelson Algren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Andersen, Hans Christian Andersen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Anderson, Sherwood Anderson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Aragon, Louis Aragon
   HAS INSTANCE=> Asch, Sholem Asch, Shalom Asch, Sholom Asch
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Gorky, Maksim Gorky, Gorki, Maxim Gorki, Aleksey Maksimovich Peshkov, Aleksey Maximovich Peshkov
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Grass, Gunter Grass, Gunter Wilhelm Grass
   HAS INSTANCE=> Graves, Robert Graves, Robert Ranke Graves
   HAS INSTANCE=> Greene, Graham Greene, Henry Graham Greene
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grey, Zane Grey
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grimm, Jakob Grimm, Jakob Ludwig Karl Grimm
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grimm, Wilhelm Grimm, Wilhelm Karl Grimm
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Haley, Alex Haley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hall, Radclyffe Hall, Marguerite Radclyffe Hall
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Harris, Joel Harris, Joel Chandler Harris
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Hasek, Jaroslav Hasek
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Heyward, DuBois Heyward, Edwin DuBois Hayward
   HAS INSTANCE=> Higginson, Thomas Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Storrow Higginson
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Huxley, Aldous Huxley, Aldous Leonard Huxley
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Irving, Washington Irving
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Jong, Erica Jong
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Marsh, Ngaio Marsh
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Mauriac, Francois Mauriac, Francois Charles Mauriac
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Merton, Thomas Merton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Michener, James Michener, James Albert Michener
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Powys, Llewelyn Powys
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Richler, Mordecai Richler
   HAS INSTANCE=> Roberts, Kenneth Roberts
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Roth, Philip Roth, Philip Milton Roth
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rousseau, Jean-Jacques Rousseau
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Rushdie, Salman Rushdie, Ahmed Salman Rushdie
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Salinger, J. D. Salinger, Jerome David Salinger
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Saroyan, William Saroyan
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sayers, Dorothy Sayers, Dorothy L. Sayers, Dorothy Leigh Sayers
   HAS INSTANCE=> Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Service, Robert William Service
   HAS INSTANCE=> Shaw, G. B. Shaw, George Bernard Shaw
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Simenon, Georges Simenon, Georges Joseph Christian Simenon
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Singer, Isaac Bashevis Singer
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Snow, C. P. Snow, Charles Percy Snow, Baron Snow of Leicester
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Stein, Gertrude Stein
   HAS INSTANCE=> Steinbeck, John Steinbeck, John Ernst Steinbeck
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Stephen, Sir Leslie Stephen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sterne, Laurence Sterne
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stevenson, Robert Louis Stevenson, Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Stoker, Bram Stoker, Abraham Stoker
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stowe, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Harriet Elizabeth Beecher Stowe
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Sue, Eugene Sue
   HAS INSTANCE=> Symonds, John Addington Symonds
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tarbell, Ida Tarbell, Ida M. Tarbell, Ida Minerva Tarbell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thackeray, William Makepeace Thackeray
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thoreau, Henry David Thoreau
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tocqueville, Alexis de Tocqueville, Alexis Charles Henri Maurice de Tocqueville
   HAS INSTANCE=> Toklas, Alice B. Toklas
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tolkien, J.R.R. Tolkien, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tolstoy, Leo Tolstoy, Count Lev Nikolayevitch Tolstoy
   HAS INSTANCE=> Trollope, Anthony Trollope
   HAS INSTANCE=> Turgenev, Ivan Turgenev, Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
   HAS INSTANCE=> Undset, Sigrid Undset
   HAS INSTANCE=> Untermeyer, Louis Untermeyer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Updike, John Updike, John Hoyer Updike
   HAS INSTANCE=> Van Doren, Carl Van Doren, Carl Clinton Van Doren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Vargas Llosa, Mario Vargas Llosa, Jorge Mario Pedro Vargas Llosa
   HAS INSTANCE=> Verne, Jules Verne
   HAS INSTANCE=> Vidal, Gore Vidal, Eugene Luther Vidal
   HAS INSTANCE=> Voltaire, Arouet, Francois-Marie Arouet
   HAS INSTANCE=> Vonnegut, Kurt Vonnegut
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wain, John Wain, John Barrington Wain
   HAS INSTANCE=> Walker, Alice Walker, Alice Malsenior Walker
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wallace, Edgar Wallace, Richard Horatio Edgar Wallace
   HAS INSTANCE=> Walpole, Horace Walpole, Horatio Walpole, Fourth Earl of Orford
   HAS INSTANCE=> Walton, Izaak Walton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ward, Mrs. Humphrey Ward, Mary Augusta Arnold Ward
   HAS INSTANCE=> Warren, Robert Penn Warren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Waugh, Evelyn Waugh, Evelyn Arthur Saint John Waugh
   HAS INSTANCE=> Webb, Beatrice Webb, Martha Beatrice Potter Webb
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wells, H. G. Wells, Herbert George Wells
   HAS INSTANCE=> Welty, Eudora Welty
   HAS INSTANCE=> Werfel, Franz Werfel
   HAS INSTANCE=> West, Rebecca West, Dame Rebecca West, Cicily Isabel Fairfield
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wharton, Edith Wharton, Edith Newbold Jones Wharton
   HAS INSTANCE=> White, E. B. White, Elwyn Brooks White
   HAS INSTANCE=> White, Patrick White, Patrick Victor Martindale White
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wiesel, Elie Wiesel, Eliezer Wiesel
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilde, Oscar Wilde, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilder, Thornton Wilder, Thornton Niven Wilder
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilson, Sir Angus Wilson, Angus Frank Johnstone Wilson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilson, Harriet Wilson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wister, Owen Wister
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wodehouse, P. G. Wodehouse, Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wolfe, Thomas Wolfe, Thomas Clayton Wolfe
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wolfe, Tom Wolfe, Thomas Wolfe, Thomas Kennerly Wolfe Jr.
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wollstonecraft, Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wood, Mrs. Henry Wood, Ellen Price Wood
   HAS INSTANCE=> Woolf, Virginia Woolf, Adeline Virginia Stephen Woolf
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wouk, Herman Wouk
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wright, Richard Wright
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wright, Willard Huntington Wright, S. S. Van Dine
   HAS INSTANCE=> Zangwill, Israel Zangwill
   HAS INSTANCE=> Zweig, Stefan Zweig




--- Grep of noun lawrence_durrell
lawrence durrell



IN WEBGEN [10000/8]

Wikipedia - Lawrence Durrell
Wikipedia - The Revolt of Aphrodite -- Pair of novels by Lawrence Durrell
Lawrence Durrell ::: Born: February 27, 1912; Died: November 7, 1990; Occupation: Novelist;
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8166.Lawrence_Durrell
Goodreads author - Lawrence_Durrell
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Lawrence_Durrell
https://allpoetry.com/Lawrence-Durrell
Lawrence Durrell



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