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Quote by Iris Murdoch

“The presence of so many things which ought to have delighted her and been her friends brought home to Moy how little delight she could now feel and how alienated she now was from all the beings to which she had once felt so close.”

Quote by Iris Murdoch

Work

The Green Knight

This classic tale of chivalry and adventure is set in the medieval period and explores themes of honor, bravery, and the supernatural. The protagonist, a knight, faces a daunting challenge from the enigmatic Green Knight, leading to a series of events that test his character and resolve. 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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“I didn't want to cry. I didn't. But she was my /sister/, and she'd died in my arms, and... Griffin only held me quietly, his hands stroking my back. Once, he pressed his lips against my temple. "Thank you," I whispered, when I could speak again. "For what?" "Everything. Going with me tonight. Fetching me a suit to change into, and pouring be brandy, and making sure none of the servants were listening in, and putting up with my awful family, and this..." "I love you." He kissed me softly, once on each eyelid. "Whatever family you claim is mine as well. I'm with you no matter what." I spoke thirteen languages, and yet I had no words to express what his presence meant to me.”

“We can ask and ask but we can't have again what once seemed ours forever—the way things looked, that church alone in the fields, a bed on a belfry floor, a remembered voice, the touch of a hand, a loved face. They've gone and you can only wait for the pain to pass. All this happened so long ago. And I never returned, never wrote, never met anyone who might have given me news of Oxgody. So, in memory, it stays as I left it, a sealed room furnished by the past, airless, still, ink long dry on a put-down pen. But this was something I knew nothing of as I closed the gate and set off across the meadow.”