Quote

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.

Lawrence Durrell

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Lawrence Durrell
Age: 78 †
Born: 1912
Born: January 1
Died: 1990
Died: November 8
Autobiographer
Biographer
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Visual Artist
Writer
Jullundur
Week
Branch
Thaw
Shall
Frozen
Ripened
Fall
Branches
Stain
Death
Birds
Minus
Ends
Snow
Stains
Firsts
Fruit
Frost
First
Bird
January
Like
Dead
Ripe

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Religion is simply art bastardized out of all recognition.
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Lovers can find nothing to say to each other that has not been said and unsaid a thousand times over. Kisses were invented to translate such nothings into wounds
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Truth is a woman. That is why it is enigmatic.
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For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential - the imagination.
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To be the equal of reality you must learn how to ignore it without danger.
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Let us define 'man' as a poet perpetually conspiring against himself.
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How grudging memory is, and how bitterly she clutches the raw material of her daily work.
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It is not peace we seek but meaning.
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The realisation of one's own death is the point at which one becomes adult.
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I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything.
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People only see in us the contemptible skirt-fever which rules our actions but completely miss the beauty-hunger underlying it.
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Love joins and then divides. How else would we be growing?
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Poverty is a great cutter-off and riches a great shutter-off.
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Life is like a cucumber. One minute it's in your hand, the next it's up you ass.
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A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.
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The steward, according to custom, had stopped all the clocks. This, in the language of Narouz, said Your stay with us is so brief, let us not be reminded of the flight of the hours.
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We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.
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'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 oа reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed.
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