William Golding, fully Sir William Gerald Golding

Golding, fully Sir William Gerald Golding

British Novelist, Playwright and Poet best known for his novel Lord of the Flies, awarded Nobel Prize in Literature and the Booker Prize

Author Quotes

The Herr Doctor does not know about peoples.

The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away.

This head is for the beast. It's a gift.

We should be looking like we used to, washed and hair brushed ? after all we aren't savages really.

Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?

The hunters' thoughts were] crowded with memories...of the knowledge... that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.

The writer probably knows what he meant when he wrote a book, but he should immediately forget what he meant when he's written it.

This is 'jus talk....I want my glasses.

We was on the outside. We never done nothing, we never seen nothing.

Within the diamond haze of the beach something dark was fumbling along...Then the creature stepped from the mirage on to clear sand, and they saw that the darkness was not all shadow but mostly clothing.

The journey of life is like a man riding a bicycle. We know he got on the bicycle and started to move. We know that at some point he will stop and get off. We know that if he stops moving and does not get off he will fall off.

Then there was that indefinable connection between himself and Jack; who therefore would never let him alone.

This is our island. It's a good island. Until the grownups come to fetch us we'll have fun.

We'd better keep on the right side of [the beast]....You can't tell what he might do.

Worse than madness. Sanity.

The man who tells the tale if he has a tale worth telling will know exactly what he is about and this business of the artist as a sort of starry-eyed inspired creature, dancing along, with his feet two or three feet above the surface of the earth, not really knowing what sort of prints he's leaving behind him, is nothing like the truth.

Then, amid the roar of bees in the afternoon sunlight, Simon found for the fruit they could not reach... passed them back down to the endless, outstretched hands.

This time the silence was complete. Ralph's lips formed a word but no sound came. Suddenly Jack bounded out from the tribe and began screaming wildly. "See? See? That's what you'll get! I meant that! There isn't a tribe for you anymore! The conch is gone ?" He ran forward, stooping. "I'm Chief!"

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.

You couldn't have a beastie, a snake-thing, on an island this size," Ralph explained kindly. "You only get them in big countries, like Africa, or India." Murmur; and the grave nodding of heads. "He says the beastie came in the dark." "Then he couldn't see it!" Laughter and cheers.

The mask was a thing on its own, behind which Jack hid, liberated from shame and self-consciousness.

There is, they say, no fool like an old fool.

To be in a world which is a hell, to be of that world and neither to believe in or guess at anything but that world is not merely hell but the only possible damnation: the act of a man damning himself. It may be.

We're not savages. We're English.

You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?

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Golding, fully Sir William Gerald Golding
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British Novelist, Playwright and Poet best known for his novel Lord of the Flies, awarded Nobel Prize in Literature and the Booker Prize