Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Lloyd Jones

Quote by Lloyd Jones

“I suppose it is possible to be all of these things. To sort of fall out of who you are into another, as well as to journey back to some essential sense of self. We only see what we see. He was whatever he needed to be, what we asked him to be. Perhaps there are lives like that—they pour into whatever space we have made ready for them to fill.”

Quote by Lloyd Jones

Work

Mister Pip

Mister Pip is a narrative that intertwines the story of a young girl, Matilda, living in the Solomon Islands during a turbulent civil war with her fascination for the classic novel 'Great Expectations'. The book explores themes of resilience, the power of storytelling, and the impact of literature on individual lives. more

Author

Lloyd Jones
Lloyd Jones

Lloyd Jones is a renowned New Zealand author known for his distinctive literary style and profound insights into New Zealand's social and cultural landscape. His works span a variety of genres, including novels, poetry, and drama, and have been well-received by readers. more

You May Also Like

“But who is this self that is to be renounced and to have no benefit? It seems that *you* yourself are supposed to be it. And for whose benefit is unselfish self-renunciation recommended to you? Again, for *your* benefit and behoof, only through that unselfishness you are procuring your "true benefit." You are to benefit *yourself*, and yet you are not to seek *your* benefit”

“II A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear — O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green: And still I gaze — and with how blank an eye! And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen: Yon crescent Moon as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel how beautiful they are! III My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.”