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Quote by Iris Murdoch

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The Nice and the Good

This book delves into the intricate tapestry of human behavior, examining the nuances between niceness and goodness in various social and ethical contexts. more

Author

Iris Murdoch
Iris Murdoch

Iris Murdoch was an Irish-Canadian philosopher and author, born on July 15, 1919, in Dublin, Ireland, and passed away on February 8, 1999. She is celebrated for her philosophical novels that intertwine moral and ethical dilemmas with complex narratives. Murdoch's work has left a lasting impact on the literary world, particularly in the latter half of the 20th century. more

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“The door exploded inward and a tangle of bug legs appeared. “I can hold them, but I can’t kill them all,” Caine shouted. “Yeah. They’re hard to kill. You got a plan?” Caine bit savagely at his thumb, worrying the cuticle. They were surrounded. The very walls were being battered. The windows were all smashed. They couldn’t fit through the door but they would soon make it wide enough. They stood, Caine and Brianna, in the kitchen, the center of the house, as far as possible from the windows, but now the bugs had their mandibles shoved in through the doors and windows, questing, slicing the air, their ropelike tongues lashing madly. The entire house was like a drum pounded by dozens of drumsticks. “You know, I’m kind of disappointed,” Brianna said. “Situation like this? Sam would come up with a plan.”

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he doesn't exist." Satan is the world’s master in the power of speech. He uses America media to keep Americans at each other throats. The American Media simply confirms that the greatest sin the devil perpetuated on mankind was convincing the world that he doesn't exist." While the American media leverage Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat to create anger and hostility…we can sneak through the back door. ~Genesis Supreme Commander”

“A nation forgetting its own laughter is in a sad state of affairs”

“My first vegetable garden was in a hard-packed dirt driveway in Boulder, Colorado. I was living in a basement apartment there, having jumped at the chance to come out West with a friend in his Volkswagen Bug, fleeing college and inner-city Philadelphia. I was twenty, hungry for experience, and fully intending to be a ski bum in my new life. But it didn’t turn out that way.”

“Now you’re going to get it,” I said, guessing Al was coming when the ones in the back scattered. “You should have been nice.” With a weird cry, the closest surface demon fell back, but it was too late. A flash of red light exploded overhead, smashing the buildings away as if I were at the center of an atomic explosion. The surface demons scattered like brown leaves, the remnants of their clothes and auras fluttering. It was Al, and he burst into existence in a grand mood, an old-fashioned lantern in his hand and a walking cane at his side. “Rachel Mariana Morgan!” he shouted enthusiastically, raising the lantern high, and I painfully rose from my crouch, breaking my bubble with a small thought. “I’ve come to save you, love!”