Lawrence Durrell
Lawrence Durrell
Lawrence George Durrellwas an expatriate British novelist, poet, dramatist, and travel writer...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth27 February 1912
travel artist journey
Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will-whatever we may think.
travel real eye
Try and travel with the eyes of the spirit wide open, and not too much factual information. To tune in, without reverence, idly -- but with real inward attention. It is to be had for the feeling, that mysterious sense of rapport, of identity with the ground. You can extract the essence of a place once you know how. If you just get as still as a needle you'll be there.
travel journey form
Travel can be one of the most rewarding forms of introspection.
behavior children dictates measure responsive
We are the children of our landscape; it dictates behavior and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it
cute-love love nervous philip severe
It's unthinkable not to love --you'd have a severe nervous breakdown. Or you'd have to be Philip Larkin.
believe reality confirmation
I don’t believe one reads to escape reality. A person reads to confirm a reality he knows is there, but which he has not experienced.
women charity fool
The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know.
best demands flower inward lead outward
They flower spontaneously out of the demands of our natures-and the best of them lead us not only outward in space, but inward as well.
opposites matter pleasure
You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect.
sorrow mass gravitation
Sorrow is implicit in love as gravitation is implicit in mass.
adults realisation
The realisation of one's own death is the point at which one becomes adult.
fall snow bird
Frost in January minus 20 for a week. Dead birds frozen on the branch—they fall with the first thaw like ripe fruit—death-ripened. We shall all end like them—just a stain in the snow.
love-is enemy warfare
Love is like trench warfare - you cannot see the enemy, but you know he is there and that it is wiser to keep your head down.
love-life long breathe
I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe!