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Duty is but a pot. It holds whatever is put in it, from the greatest evil to the greatest good.

John Fowles

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John Fowles
Age: 79 †
Born: 1926
Born: March 31
Died: 2005
Died: November 5
Essayist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Teacher
Writer
Leigh-on-Sea
Essex
Pot
Holds
Duty
Greatest
Whatever
Evil
Good

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I do not plan my fiction any more than I normally plan woodland walks I follow the path that seems most promising at any given point, not some itinerary decided before entry.
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You come to the United States not knowing what to expect. Then all your worst prejudices are confirmed.
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To write poetry and to commit suicide, apparently so contradictory, had really been the same, attempts at escape.
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And I just can't live in this present. I would go mad if I did.
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Greece is like a mirror. It makes you suffer. Then you learn.' To live alone?' To live. With what you are.
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Always we try to put the wild in a cage.
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The pronoun is one of the most terrifying masks man has invented.
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The profoundest distances are never geographical.
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The power of women! I've never felt so full of mysterious power. Men are a joke. We're so weak physically, so helpless with things. Still, even today. But we're stronger than they are. We can stand their cruelty. They can't stand ours.
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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.
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I read and I read and I was like a medieval king, I had fallen in love with the picture long before I saw the reality.
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There are many reasons why novelists write, but they all have one thing in common - a need to create an alternative world.
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You put up with your voice and speak with it because you haven't any choice. But it's what you say that counts.
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When you draw something it lives and when you photograph it it dies
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We talked for hours. He talked and I listened. It was like wind and sunlight. It blew all the cobwebs away.
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The American myth is of free will in its simple, primary sense. One can choose oneself and will oneself and this absurdly optimistic assumption so dominates the republic that it has bred all its gross social injustices.
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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.
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The craving to risk death is our last great perversion. We come from night, we go into night. Why live in night?
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Just those three words, said and meant. I love you. They were quite hopeless. He said it as he might have said, I have cancer. His fairy story.
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My hatred of crowds, the obviousness of crowds, of anything en masse. Is this why I like little-known books? A general desire to escape the main world.
John Fowles