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William Golding Biography

William Golding

Sir William Gerald Golding CBE (19 September 1911 – 19 June 1993) was a British novelist, playwright, and poet. Best known for his novel Lord of the Flies, he won a Nobel Prize in Literature and was awarded the Booker Prize for fiction in 1980 for his novel Rites of Passage, the first book in what became his sea trilogy, To the Ends of the Earth.

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William Golding Quotes

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

Lawful, Lord, Slipping, Understandable, World

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

Fool, Like, Old, Say

Novelists do not write as birds sing, by the push of nature. It is part of the job that there should be much routine and some daily stuff on the level of carpentry.

Bird, Carpentry, Daily, Jobs, Part, Writing

At the moment of vision, the eyes see nothing.

Eye, Moment, Moments, Nothing, Vision

Percival was mouse-coloured and had not been very attractive even to his mother.

Attractive, Mice, Mother, Percival

I hope my books make statements about our general condition.

Book, Condition, Conditions, Hope, Statements

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.

Book, Forget, Meant, Writer, Writing

What could be safer than the bus center with its lamps and wheels?

Bus, Center, Lamps, Safer, Wheels

Life should serve up its feast of experience in a series of courses.

Courses, Experience, Feast, Should

Towards midnight the rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars.

Clouds, Lamps, Rain, Stars

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.

Fundamentals, Long, Novel, Paper, Say

I'm not a critic so much of my own writing. People must make up their own minds over that.

Critic, Mind, Minds, People, Writing

One thing should be put firmly. Where people have commented on that novel [The Paper Men], they generally criticize the poor academic, Rick L. Tucker, who is savaged by the author, Wilfred Barclay. I don't think people have noticed that I have been far ruder about Barclay than I have been about Tucker. Tucker is a fool, but Barclay is a swine. The author really gets his come-uppance.

Men, Thinking, People, Poor, Wilfred, Criticize

Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.

Blood, Cut, Cutting, Pigs, Spill

Honestly, I haven't the time to read contemporary writers. I know this is awful, but in the main it is true.

Awful, Contemporary, Honestly, Know, Time

An orotundity, which I define as Nobelitis a pomposity in which one is treated as representative of more than oneself by someone conscious of representing more than himself.

Conscious, Define, Oneself, Pomposity, Representatives, Treated

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.

Animal, Anyway, Blow, Fire, Like, Rescued

He who rides the sea of the Nile must have sails woven of patience.

Patience, Sailing, Sails, Sea

I think there might even come a time when I would read Virgil again. Ovid's Metamorphoses, perhaps, not because the music goes round and round and never comes out, but because it's an extraordinary picture of ceaseless change that never comes to an end.

Come, Metamorphosis, Might, Music, Thinking, Time

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.

Chess, Decision, Player, Playing Chess, Though, Treat

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