Anthony Burgess
Anthony Burgess
John Anthony Burgess Wilson, FRSL – who published under the pen name Anthony Burgess – was an English writer and composer. From relatively modest beginnings in a Catholic family in Manchester, he eventually became one of the best known English literary figures of the latter half of the twentieth century...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth25 February 1917
spit
Eat this sweetish segment or spit it out. You are free.
uplifting philosophy literature
Literature ceases to be literature when it commits itself to moral uplift; it becomes moral philosophy or some such dull thing.
flower humanity states
When the State withers, humanity flowers.
But what I do I do because I like to do.
imagination records language
Language exists less to record the actual than to liberate the imagination.
sex writing literature
Literature is all, or mostly, about sex.
believe unseen christ
If you believe in an unseen Christ, you will believe in the unseen Christlike potential of others.
vocabulary earth flesh
There is a satisfactory boniness about grammar which the flesh of sheer vocabulary requires before it can become a vertebrate and walk the earth.
somewhere-else ghost life-is
All human life is here, but the Holy Ghost seems to be somewhere else.
dog real animal
Where do I come into all of this? Am I just some animal or dog?' And that started them off govoreeting real loud and throwing slovos at me. So I creeched louder still, creeching: 'Am I just to be like a clockwork orange?
book ignorance stupidity
Reviewers do not read books with much care . . . their profession is more given to stupidity and malice and literary ignorance even than the profession of novelist.
world violence life-is
Delimitation is always difficult. The world is one, life is one. The sweetest and most heavenly of activities partake in some measure of violence - the act of love, for instance; music, for instance.
easier spectacular
To devastate is easier and more spectacular than to create.
art boys oil
Well, well, well, well. If it isn't fat, stinking billygoat Billy-Boy in poison. How art thou, thy globby bottle of cheap, stinking chip-oil? Come and get one in the yarbles, if you have any yarbles, you eunuch jelly thou.