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There's a kinship among men who have sat by a dying fire and measured the worth of their life by it.

William Golding

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William Golding
Age: 81 †
Born: 1911
Born: September 19
Died: 1993
Died: June 19
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Newquay
Cornwall
William Gerald Albert Golding
Sir William Gerald Golding
Among
Dying
Worth
Fire
Men
Kinship
Life
Measured
Contemplation
Sat

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Maybe there is a beast… maybe it's only us.
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As far as the novel is concerned in my own country, I think it's in a pretty healthy state.
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His mind was crowded with memories memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.
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Serve you right if something did get you, you useless lot of cry-babies!
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One tries to tell a truth, and one hopes that the truth has a general application rather than just a specific one.
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A crowd of grade-three thinkers, all shouting the same thing, all warming their hands at the fire of their own prejudices, will not thank you for pointing out the contradictions in their beliefs. Man is a gregarious animal, and enjoys agreement as cows will graze all the same way on the side of a hill.
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We did everything adults would do. What went wrong?
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I really feel the novel has certain conveniences about it and has something so fundamental about it you could almost say that as long as there is paper, there is going to be the novel.
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I think women are foolish to pretend they are equal to men, they are far superior and always have been.
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The trouble was, if you were a chief you had to think, you had to be wise.
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Ralph... would treat the day's decisions as though he were playing chess. The only trouble was that he would never be a very good chess player.
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I will tell you what man is. He is a freak, an ejected foetus robbed of his natural development, thrown out into the world with a naked covering of parchment, with too little room for his teeth and a soft bulging skull like a bubble. But nature stirs a pudding there.
William Golding
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I've come across a novel called The Palm-Wine Drinkard, by the Nigerian writer Amos Tutuola, that is really remarkable because it is a kind of fantasy of West African mythology all told in West African English which, of course, is not the same as standard English.
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The mask was a thing on it's own, behind which Jack hid, liberated from shame and self-conciousness.
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What a man does defiles him, not what is done by others.
William Golding
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Maybe half a dozen think they are a community, but, in general terms, I think English writers tend to face outwards, away from each other, and write in their own patch, as it were.
William Golding
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They walked along, two continents of experience and feeling unable to communicate.
William Golding
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Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against this as a method, but it is not what English writers do.
William Golding
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the conch exploded into a thousand white fragments and ceased to exist.
William Golding
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For a small island [Great Britain], the place is remarkably diverse.
William Golding