Quotes from John Fowles

Fiecare moarte apas? asupra celor vii, fiecare moarte apas? cu povara grea a complicit??ii; fiecare moarte este absurd?, l?sându-i pe ceilalÈ›i cu un sentiment de permanent? vinov??ie È™i o tristeÈ›e f?r? sfârÈ™it.

Iubesc cinstea, È™i libertatea, È™i generozitatea. Iubesc capacitatea de a face ceva, de a crea. Îmi place s? m? implic din plin. Iubesc tot ce nu este static È™i îi ur?sc pe toÈ›i cei care se mulÈ›umesc s? stea de o parte È™i s? ptiveasc?, s? plagieze, pe cei a c?ror inim? a murit înaintea trupului.

I have not made up my mind about Marian (another M! I heard the supervisor call her name), this time it won't be love, it would just be for the interest of the thing . . . and the clothes would fit. Of course I would make it clear from the start who's boss and what I expect . . . but it is still just an idea.

Successful artistic parents seem very rarely to give birth to equally successful artistic sons and daughters, and I suspect it may be because the urge to create, which must always be partly the need to escape everyday reality, is better fostered-- despite modern educational theory-- not by a sympathetic and 'creative' childhood environment, but the very opposite, by pruning and confining natural instinct.

Another thing I said to Caliban the other day-we were listening to Jazz- I said, don't you just dig this? And he says, in the garden. I said he was so square he was hardly credible. Oh, that, he said. Like rain, endless dreary rain. Color-killing.

There are those of us who never see death ahead, but eternally behind: in any moment that stops and thinks.

Dar dragostea vine îmbr?cat? în veÈ™minte diferite, cu alt? fa??, sub o alt? form? È™i poate c? e nevoie de timp îndelungat ca s-o accepÈ›i; s? o numeÈ™ti dragoste.

The lifeless sea was ruffled here and there by a lost zephyr, by a stippling shoal of sardines, dark ash-blue lines that snaked, broad then narrow, in slow motion across the shimmering mirageous surface, as if the water was breeding corruption.

They're teaching you to express personality at the Slade – personality in general. But however good you get at translating personality into line or paint it's no go if your personality isn't worth translating. It

I would have gone to bed with him that night. If he had asked. If he had come and kissed me. Not for his sake, but for being alive's.

Either you enlist under the kapetan, that murderer who knew only one word, but the only word, or you enlist under Anton. You watch and you despair. Or you despair and you watch. In the first case, you commit physical suicide; in the second, moral.

It seemed sadistic, this last wasteland of days. It was as if Conchis, with Alison's connivance, proceeded by some outmoded Victorian dietetic morality—one couldn't have more jam, the sweetness of events, until one ate a lot more bread, the dry stodge of time.

He got up and said, I think you've got something in you. I don't know. Women very rarely have. I mean most women just want to be good at something, they've got good-at minds, and they mean deftness and a flair and good taste and what-not. They can't ever understand that if your desire is to go to the furthest limits of yourself then the actual form your art takes doesn't seem important to you. Whether

Prima dumitale reacÈ›ie este tipic? pentru acest secol care nu admite nimic, un secol care nu crede, nu aprob?. Asta se ascunde în spatele politeÈ›ii dumitale. EÈ™ti ca È™i ariciul. Când ariciul îÈ™i scoate È›epii nu poate mânca. Cine nu m?nânc? moare de foame. Èšepii dispar odat? cu trupul.

Puterea femeii! Nu m-am simÈ›it niciodat? atât de plin? de puteri misterioase. B?rbaÈ›ii sunt doar o glum?. Suntem atât de pl?pânde fizic, atât de neajutorate în faÈ›a realit??ii. Chiar È™i în ziua de azi. Dar suntem mai puternice decât ei. Noi putem îndura cruzimea lor. Ei n-o pot îndura pe a noastr?.

Ordinary experience, from waking second to second, is in fact highly synthetic (in the sense of combinative or constructive), and made of a complexity of strands, past memories and present perceptions, times and places, private and public history, hopelessly beyond science's powers to analyse. It is quintessentially 'wild' ... unphilosophical, irrational uncontrollable, incalculable.

There are at least sixteen other Holy Members in Europe. Mostly from mummies, and all equally discredited. But for de Deukans it was simply a collectable, and the religious or indeed human blasphemy it represented had no significance for him. This is true of all collecting. It extinguishes the moral instinct. The object finally possesses the possessor.

Acea prim? întâlnire, acel misterios, cum s? spun, mesaj al luminii ei adresat umbrei mele m-a obsedat s?pt?mâni în È™ir.

it's rather like your voice. You put up with your voice and speak with it because you haven't any choice. But it's what you say that counts. It's what distinguishes all great art from the other kind. The technically accomplished buggers are two a penny in any period. Especially in this great age of universal education. He

wrote to him. Visited him. Totally alone. And I believe the happiest man I have ever met.

Asta a fost tragedia. Nu c? un om a avut curajul de a fi tic?los, dar c? milioane de oameni nu au avut curajul de a fi buni.

Omul nu este o insul?. - Prostii, aiurea! Fiecare din noi este o insul?. Dac? nu am fi, am înnebuni pe loc. Între aceste insule sunt vapoare, avioane, telefoane, radio - ce vrei. Oamenii r?mân insule. Insule care se pot scufunda È™i pot disp?rea pentru vecie. Tu eÈ™ti o insul? care nu s-a scufundat. Nu poÈ›i fi atât de pesimist! Nu este posibil.

I remember later he said (Professor Higgins again), you don't really stand a dog's chance anyhow. You're too pretty. The art of love's your line: not the love of art.

Dac? pe drumul pe care îl urmezi de mult? vreme, o maÈ™in? se opreÈ™te s? te ia, asta nu poate schimba decât ora sosirii, nu poate explica È™i motivul pentru care ai apucat-o în direcÈ›ia aceea.