Graham Greene
Graham Greene
Henry Graham Greene OM CH, better known by his pen name Graham Greene, was an English novelist and author regarded by some as one of the great writers of the 20th century. Combining literary acclaim with widespread popularity, Greene acquired a reputation early in his lifetime as a major writer, both of serious Catholic novels, and of thrillers. He was shortlisted, in 1967, for the Nobel Prize for Literature. Through 67 years of writings, which included over 25 novels, he...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth2 October 1904
God created a number of possibilities in case some of his prototypes failed -- that is the meaning of evolution.
To take an Annamite to bed with you is like taking a bird: they twitter and sing on your pillow
They are always saying God loves us. If that's love I'd rather have a bit of kindness.
Heresy is another word for freedom of thought.
No human being can really understand another, and no one can arrange another's happiness.
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.
Media is a word that has come to mean bad journalism
Of course, before we know he is a saint, there will have to be miracles.
Catholics and Communists have committed great crimes, but at least they have not stood aside, like an established society, and been indifferent. I would rather have blood on my hands than water like Pilate.
So many of his prayers had remained unanswered that he had hopes that this one prayer of his had lodged all the time like wax in the Eternal ear.
That whisky priest, I wish we had never had him in the house.
He felt the loyalty we feel to unhappiness -- the sense that is where we really belong.
Thrillers are like life, more like life than you are; it's what we've all made of the world.
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. When you saw the lines at the corners of the eyes, the thape of the mouth, how the hair grew, it was impossible to hate. Hate was just a failure of imagination.