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Malcolm Bradbury Made The Point, And I Don't Know Whether It's A Valid One Or Not, That The Real English At The Moment Is Not The English Spoken In England Or In America Or Even In Canada Or Australia Or New Zealand. The Real English Is The English Which Is A Second Language, So That It's Rather Like Latin In The Days Of The Roman Empire When People Had Their Own Languages, But Had Latin In Order To Communicate.

-William Golding

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Malcolm Bradbury Made The

William Golding

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Malcolm Bradbury Made The Point, And I Don't Know Whether It's A Valid One Or Not, That The Real English At The Moment Is Not The English Spoken In England Or In America Or Even In Canada Or Australia Or New Zealand. The Real English Is The English Which Is A Second Language, So That It's Rather Like Latin In The Days Of The Roman Empire When People Had Their Own Languages, But Had Latin In Order To Communicate.

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You'll Get Back To Where You Came From.

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If I Blow The Conch And They Don't Come Back; Then We've Had It. We Shan't Keep The Fire Going. We'll Be Like Animals. We'll Never Be Rescued." "if You Don't Blow, We'll Soon Be Animals Anyway.

Kill The Pig. Cut Her Throat. Spill Her Blood.

Only One Novel Is A Novel: That Is A Successful Novel.

Roger Stooped, Picked Up A Stone, Aimed And Threw It At Henry-threw It To Miss. The Stone, That Token Of Preposterous Time, Bounced Five Yards To Henry's Right And Fell In The Water. Roger Gathered A Handful Of Stones And Began To Throw Them. Yet There Was A Space Round Henry, Perhaps Six Yards In Diameter, Into Which He Dare Not Throw. Here, Invisible Yet Strong, Was The Taboo Of The Old Life. Round The Squatting Child Was The Protection Of Parents And School And Policemen And The Law. Roger Was Conditioned By A Civilization That Knew Nothing Of Him And Was In Ruins.

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The World, That Understandable And Lawful World, Was Slipping Away.

This Is Our Island. It's A Good Island. Until The Grownups Come To Fetch Us We'll Have Fun.

I Don't Think They [contemporary Writers] Read Me Either. I Mean, If We're Concerned Genuinely With Writing, I Think We Probably Get On With Our Work.

Which Is Better -- To Be A Pack Of Painted Indians Like You Are, Or To Be Sensible Like Ralph Is? Which Is Better -- To Have Rules And Agree, Or To Hunt And Kill? Which Is Better, Law And Rescue, Or Hunting And Breaking Things Up?

They Looked At Each Other, Baffled, In Love And Hate.

Marx, Darwin And Freud Are The Three Most Crashing Bores Of The Western World. Simplistic Popularization Of Their Ideas Has Thrust Our World Into A Mental Straitjacket From Which We Can Only Escape By The Most Anarchic Violence.

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.

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The Greatest Ideas Are The Simplest.

Honestly, I Haven't The Time To Read Contemporary Writers. I Know This Is Awful, But In The Main It Is True.

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Utopias Are Presented For Our Inspection As A Critique Of The Human State. If They Are To Be Treated As Anything But Trivial Exercises Of The Imagination. I Suggest There Is A Simple Test We Can Apply. We Must Forget The Whole Paraphernalia Of Social Description, Demonstration, Expostulation, Approbation, Condemnation. We Have To Say To Ourselves, How Would I Myself Live In This Proposed Society? How Long Would It Be Before I Went Stark Staring Mad?

At The Moment Of Vision, The Eyes See Nothing.

Language Fits Over Experience Like A Straight-jacket.

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There Is, They Say, No Fool Like An Old Fool.

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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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My Yesterdays Walk With Me. They Keep Step, They Are Gray Faces That Peer Over My Shoulder.

It Wasn't Until I Was 37 That I Grasped The Great Truth That You've Got To Write Your Own Books And Nobody Else's, And Then Everything Followed From There.

But Forgiveness Must Not Only Be Given But Received Also.

Worse Than Madness. Sanity.

He Lost Himself In A Maze Of Thoughts That Were Rendered Vague By His Lack Of Words To Express Them. Frowning, He Tried Again.

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I Suppose Drama Can Either Take The Place Of A Novel Or Can Be Very Closely Allied With It. It's Quite Customary To Turn A Successful Novel Into A Film Or A Television Series Because You Can Dramatize And Pictorialize A Novel.

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However You Disguise Novels, They Are Always Biographies.

Experimental Novels Are Sometimes Terribly Clever And Very Seldom Read. But The Story That Appeals To The Child Sitting On Your Knee Is The One That Satisfies The Curiosity We All Have About What Happened Then, And Then, And Then. This Is The Final Restriction Put On The Technique Of Telling A Story. A Basic Thing Called Story Is Built Into The Human Condition. It's What We Are; It's Something To Which We React.

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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I Think They've Got 250 Languages In Nigeria, And So English Is A Sort Of Lingua Franca Between The 250 Languages.

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The Water Rose Further And Dressed Simon's Coarse Hair With Brightness. The Line Of His Cheek Silvered And The Turn Of His Shoulder Became Sculptured Marble.

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We Have A Disharmony In Our Natures. We Cannot Live Together Without Injuring Each Other.

While I Am On, I Can Discipline Myself To That Extent. When I Am Off, I Can't Discipline Myself At All. On The Other Hand, When I Am Off, There Are So Many Things I Like Doing, It Doesn't Really Matter.

Which Is Better, Law And Rescue, Or Hunting And Breaking Things Up?

Childhood Is A Disease - A Sickness That You Grow Out Of.

We Did Everything Adults Would Do. What Went Wrong?

I Have A Confession To Make. The Love Affair Of My Life Has Been With The Greek Language. I Have Now Reached The Age When It Has Occurred To Me That I May Have Read Some Books For The Last Time. I Suddenly Thought That There Are Books I Cannot Bear Not To Read Again Before I Die. One That Stands Out A Mile Is Homer's Iliad.

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Then You Have People Coming Up Like Malcolm Bradbury, A Relatively Young Writer Who Deals With The Academic Scene And Deals With It, I Think, Brilliantly.

I Am Here; And Here Is Nowhere In Particular.

We're All Mad, The Whole Damned Race. We're Wrapped In Illusions, Delusions, Confusions About The Penetrability Of Partitions, We're All Mad And In Solitary Confinement.

I Am By Nature An Optimist And By Intellectual Conviction A Pessimist.

Sleep Is When All The Unsorted Stuff Comes Flying Out As From A Dustbin Upset In A High Wind.

We've Got To Have Rules And Obey Them. After All, We're Not Savages. We're English, And The English Are Best At Everything.

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Together, Joined In Effort By The Burden, They Staggered Up The Last Steep Of The Mountain. Together, They Chanted One! Two! Three! And Crashed The Log On To The Great Pile. Then They Stepped Back, Laughing With Triumphant Pleasure.

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The Navy's A Very Gentlemanly Business. You Fire At The Horizon To Sink A Ship And Then You Pull People Out Of The Water And Say, 'frightfully Sorry, Old Chap.'

Ralph Wept For The End Of Innocence, The Darkness Of Man's Heart, And The Fall Through The Air Of The True, Wise Friend Called Piggy.

For A Small Island [great Britain], The Place Is Remarkably Diverse.

I Began To See What People Were Capable Of Doing. Anyone Who Moved Through Those Years Without Understanding That Man Produces Evil As A Bee Produces Honey, Must Have Been Blind Or Wrong In The Head.

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Put First Things First

First Things First

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Once Upon A Time

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I'm Scared Of Him," Said Piggy, "and That's Why I Know Him. If You're Scared Of Someone You Hate Him But You Can't Stop Thinking About Him. You Kid Yourself He's All Right Really, An' Then When You See Him Again; It's Like Asthma An' You Can't Breathe.

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The Conch Exploded Into A Thousand White Fragments And Ceased To Exist.

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