Quotes from William Golding

We have lots of assemblies. Everybody enjoys speaking and being together. We decide things. But they don't get done.

aç?klamak istiyordu; hiç kimsenin tam san?ld??? gibi olmad???n? anlatmak istiyordu.

Oynamak hoÅŸtu ve yaÅŸamlar? öylesine dopdoluydu ki, umuda gerek duymuyorlar, umudun ne olduÄŸunu unutuyorlard? o s?rada.

Birinden korkunca ondan nefret edersiniz ama boyuna da düÅŸünüp durursunuz onu. Kendi kendinizi aldat?rs?n?z; asl?nda kötü deÄŸildir dersiniz. Ama onu görünce, t?pk? nefes darl???na tutulmuÅŸ gibi olursunuz, soluk alamazs?n?z.

You are a silly little boy,' said the Lord of the Flies, 'just an ignorant, silly little boy.

You never loved me, nobody never loved me. I wanted to be loved, I wanted somebody to be kind to me - I wanted- She wanted tenderness. So did I; but not from her. She was no part of high fantasy and worship and hopeless jealousy. She was the accessible thing.

I just think you'll get back all right.

Let me think in pictures again. If I imagine heaven metaphorically dazzled into colours, the pure white light spread out in a cascade richer than a peacock's tail then I see that one of the colours lay over me. I was innocent of guilt, unconscious of innocence; happy, therefore, and unconscious of happiness. Perhaps the full sheaf of colours is never to be experienced by the human being since if they experience these colours they must lie in the past or on someone else.

Demek istediÄŸim ÅŸu... Bizden baÅŸka canavar yok belki...

You wouldn't care if I was dead. Nobody'd care. That's all you want, just my damned body, not me. Nobody wants me, just my damned body. And I'm damned and you're damned with your cock and your cleverness and your chemistry-

Nereden geldinse, oraya döneceksin.

You could see the damp spot where each flake died, then you could mark the first flake that lay down without melting and watch the whole ground turn white.

Se le facce cambiavano, quando erano illuminate dall'alto o dal basso... cos'era mai una faccia? Che cos'era tutto?

What's in a book is not what the author put into it, it's what the reader gets out of it.

Lavoravano dunque con grande energia ed allegria, benché col passar del tempo ci fosse un tantino di panico nell'energia, e d'isterismo nell'allegria.

I stood, in shame and confusion, seeing for the first time despite my anger a different picture of Evie in her life-long struggle to be clean and sweet. It was as if this object of frustration and desire had suddenly acquired the attributes of a person rather than a thing...

In mezzo a loro, col corpo sudicio, i capelli sulla fronte e il naso da pulire, Ralph piangeva per la fine dell'innocenza.

Words may, through the devotion, the skill, the passion, and the luck of writers prove to be the most powerful thing in the world.

Piggy fell forty feet and landed on his back across the square red rock in the sea. His head opened and stuff came out and turned red. Piggy's arm sand legs twitched a bit, like a pig's after it has been killed. Then the sea breathed again in along, slow sigh, the water boiled white and pink over the rock; and when it went, sucking back again, the body of Piggy was gone.

He was so delighted he stood on his head. And this is one of the ways small boys show they're delighted, they stand on their head and waggle their feet in the air.

Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill! said the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter. You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?

Before the Second World War I believed in the perfectibility of social man; that a correct structure of society would produce goodwill; and that therefore you could remove all social ills by a reorganisation of society... but after the war I did not because I was unable to. I had discovered what one man could do to another... I must say that anyone who moved through those years without understanding that man produces evil as a bee produces honey must have been blind or wrong in the head.

What is like chemistry? Well. Life. It's an outrageous farce, Oliver, with an incompetent producer...

What was real seemed illusive and without definition.