John Fowles
John Fowles
John Robert Fowleswas an English novelist of international stature, critically positioned between modernism and postmodernism. His work reflects the influence of Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus, among others...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth31 March 1926
music art creative
Thomas Beecham was a pompous little band-master who stood against everything creative in the art of his time.
art portraits interest
Edith Sitwell's interest in art was largely confined to portraits of herself.
art wall hate
Each age, each guilty age, builds high walls around its Versailles; and personally I hate those walls most when they are made by literature and art.
art use faces
Art is a statement of one in the face of all; not a statement by one for the use of all.
art men doe
The practise of an art is essential to the whole man, not because of what art is but because of what art does to the artist.
art murder window
Art's cruel. You can get away with murder with words. But a picture is like a window straight through to your inmost heart.
beautiful art passion
Do you know that every great thing in the history of art and every beautiful thing in life is actually what you call nasty or has been caused by feelings that you would call nasty? By passion, by love, by hatred, by truth. Do you know that?
art
Science disembodies; art embodies.
animal cannot die rest
You are like a porcupine. When the animal has its spines erect, it cannot eat. If you do not eat, you will starve. And your prickles will die with the rest of your body.
allowed burning cannot creatures felt form glad imagine reality seemed single survive
So I felt this burning summer. In form I mightbelong to humankind; in reality I seemed one of aravenous self-destroying horde of rats.I am glad there is no God. If there were,I cannot imagine that we rampant, myopic, andinsatiably self-centred creatures shouldbe allowed to survive a single day more
allowed belong burning cannot creatures felt form glad imagine might reality seemed single survive
So I felt this burning summer. In form I might belong to humankind; in reality I seemed one of a ravenous self-destroying horde of rats. I am glad there is no God. If there were, I cannot imagine that we rampant, myopic, and insatiably self-centred creatures should be allowed to survive a single day more
poets simply words
We all write poems; it is simply that the poets are the ones who write in words
hate jealous mean
I hate the uneducated and the ignorant. I hate the pompous and the phoney. I hate the jealous and the resentful. I hate the crabbed and mean and the petty. I hate all ordinary dull little people who aren't ashamed of being dull and little.
forget happens
Forgetting’s not something you do, it happens to you. Only it didn’t happen to me.