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
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.
mean sleep writing
It's no good. I've been trying to sleep for the last half-hour, and I can't. Writing here is a sort of drug. It's the only thing I look forward to. This afternoon I read what I wrote... And it seemed vivid. I know it seems vivid because my imagination fills in all the bits another person wouldn't understand. I mean, it's vanity. But it seems a sort of magic... And I just can't live in this present. I would go mad if I did
hate mean piers
Piers is always going on about how he hated Stowe. As if that solves everything, as if to hate something means it can't have affected you.
mean feels ought
I mean I never feel I feel what I ought to feel.
mean one-day wish
You wish to be liked. I wish simply to be. One day you will know what that means, perhaps. And you will smile. Not against me. But with me.
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
forget happens
Forgetting’s not something you do, it happens to you. Only it didn’t happen to me.
almost far fell trap
I can see it is very far from being universally well written. I fell into almost every trap awaiting the tyro writer.
life attitude men
Only fools think our attitude to our fellow men is a thing distinct from our attitude to 'lesser' life on this planet.
light skins
Between skin and skin, there is only light.
music art creative
Thomas Beecham was a pompous little band-master who stood against everything creative in the art of his time.