Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Graham Greene

Quote by Graham Greene

Work

The Quiet American

This novel delves into the complexities of the Vietnam War era, focusing on the intertwining lives of a British journalist and an American photojournalist amidst the backdrop of political intrigue and colonial power struggles. more

Author

Graham Greene
Graham Greene

Graham Greene was a renowned British writer born on October 2, 1904. His works are characterized by deep insight and unique narrative techniques, and he is hailed as one of the greatest novelists of the 20th century. Greene's writing spans a variety of themes, including spy novels, religious novels, and noir novels. more

You May Also Like

“I do not understand why America fails to see that by continuing to make education at college level unaffordable, credit rating-dependent and student loans almost impossible to repay, it is obstructing tertiary education from its potential brightest and poorest, and killing their best prospects of attracting high-paying employment.”

“Thus was born the Service Archive, a ‘tool for correlating current events with historical precedents’, which would be of incalculable strategic use assuming it was ever actually operational. Currently, though, its status was not dissimilar to that of countless other Civil Service projects, in that its existence had been ordained, the process for bringing it into being had been set in motion, and it would thus continue gestating until it was officially put a stop to, despite having long been forgotten about by everyone concerned in its conception.”

“The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.”

“Recently I've been working very hard and quickly; in this way I try to express the desperately fast passage of things in modern life. Yesterday, in the rain, I painted a large landscape with fields as far as the eye can see, viewed from a height, different kinds of greenery, a dark green field of potatoes, the rich purple earth between the regular rows of plants, to one side a field of peas white with bloom, a field of clover with pink flowers and the little figure of a mower, a field of tall, ripe, fawn-coloured grass, then some wheat, some poplars, on the horizon a last line of blue hills at the foot of which a train is passing, leaving an immense trail of white smoke over the greenery. A white road crosses the canvas, on the road a little carriage and some white houses with bright red roofs alongside a road. Fine drizzle streaks the whole with blue or grey lines.”