Author of quotes: Lawrence Durrell. Page 2

Did you notice Charlock that most things in life going on besides us? We notice them only in the corner of his eye. And that any event can be the result of any other events? I want to say that, apparently, for each phenomenon there are a dozen suitable explanation. That's why our logical umopostroeniya so unsatisfactory; but, alas, there is not for us, but our weak mind.

Perhaps we subconsciously strive for the destruction and ruin? In the end, we create our own heroes in our own image. Caligula or Napoleon leave a huge disgusting mole on the sebaceous degenerative skin our history. Aren't we happy? Don't we deserve them? What the scientific view is the view that offers of dubious opinions, claiming the inviolability of universal truths. But ideas like women's clothes and disease of the rich, changing at the whim of fashion. People, like chimps, can not long on something to focus; he yawns, he needs variety. Well, then, born of Descartes or Leibniz, to amuse him. He could run out and starlet, but the poor man is forced to accept this overly generous rewards for mental effort.

Stupidity is contagious, and society always tries to ensure that the disease was endemic.

Love is like trench warfare: the enemy you can't see, but I know that he's here and that it would be wiser to keep your head down.

You know, women are my weakness - he repents - and it was all so simple. My God, it's like - the waiter and puts it on your plate a dish that you ordered or someone else ordered, and you brought by mistake; it came into my life... as stuffed eggplant... What was I supposed to do?

By the way, this is because Toby has guided me in the true Faith. One night two of us kept watch on "Meredith" (good old boat), and he said to me, "Scobey fucking, I want to tell you one thing, you know. Ever hear about the virgin Mary?" Of course, I heard, but vaguely. Not quite imagined what she's got, so to speak, duties...

I like it when events overlap overlap when they climb on one another like wet crabs in a basket...

And the woman, and it's more that we, not being French, can say about it, is animal night...

His words were especially imprinted in memory, as traces of the cat's paws in a lump of butter.

Unsure of her long fingers as though trying to touch, to memorize the shape of our happiness.

... I realized with surprise that I still love her and know that she will never be able to love another woman, I cringe thinking she could come back.

... Passion to possess, to own, if you starve her to death, makes a man being absolutely and unconditionally dependent - on the subject of passion.

Nearby hangs a small lithograph of the Mona Lisa whose enigmatic smile has always reminded Scobie of his own mother. (That reminds me that this famous smile has always seemed to me smiling woman, just at dinner poisoned her own husband.)

He thought much and suffered much, but what he lacked is the determination to try - first properties of the artist.