Lawrence Durrell
Lawrence Durrell
Lawrence George Durrellwas an expatriate British novelist, poet, dramatist, and travel writer...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth27 February 1912
writing unique reality
We live" writes Pursewarden somewhere, "lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time - not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation of reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed.
fall writing trying
To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off.
writing neurosis energy
It takes a lot of energy and a lot of neurosis to write a novel. If you were really sensible, you'd do something else.
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.
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.
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.