The more research you do, the more at ease you are in the world you're writing about. It doesn't encumber you, it makes you free.
A. S. ByattRead
There are things I take sides about, like capital punishment, which it seems to me there is only one side about: it is evil. But there are two or three sides to sexual harassment, and the moment you get into particular cases, there is injustice in every conceivable direction. It's a mess.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the complexity of moral issues, contrasting absolute evil with nuanced social issues.
A. S. Byatt emphasizes the difference between clearly defined moral stances, such as the unequivocal nature of capital punishment as evil, and the multifaceted social issue of sexual harassment, where differing viewpoints and specific cases can lead to injustices on all sides. The quote suggests that some issues are clear-cut while others are tangled and require careful consideration of various perspectives.
In practice
Discussing ethical dilemmas in a philosophy class.
The more research you do, the more at ease you are in the world you're writing about. It doesn't encumber you, it makes you free.
It's because I'm a feminist that I can't stand women limiting other women's imaginations. It really makes me angry.
Why do we take pleasure in gruesome death, neatly packaged as a puzzle to which we may find a satisfactory solution through clues - or if we are not clever enough, have it revealed by the all-powerful tale-teller at the end of the book? It is something to do with being reduced to, and comforted by, playing by the rules.
Never stop paying attention to things. Never make your mind up finally. Do not hold beliefs.
Only write to me, write to me, I love to see the hop and skip and sudden starts of your ink.
I am a creature of my pen. My pen is the best of me.
If we assume the best in people, we can radically redesign our democracy and welfare states.
If we go back to the beginning, we shall find that ignorance and fear created the gods; that fancy, enthusiasm, or deceit adorned them; that weakness worships them; that credulity preserves them and that custom, respect and tyranny support them in order to make the blindness of men serve their own interests. If the ignorance of nature gave birth to gods, the knowledge of nature is calculated to destroy them.
The dice of God are always loaded.
In a world beyond this one, that river goes on singing sweetly, enchanting us with what we want to hear, shaping what we need to see in order to keep going. In those waters, all disappointments are forgotten, our mistakes forgiven. Gazing into them, we see a strong father. A loving mother. Warm rooms where we are sheltered, adored, wanted. And the uncertainty of our futures is nothing more than the fog of breath on a windowpane.
We are not utopians, we do not “dream” of dispensing at once with all administration, with all subordination. These anarchist dreams, based upon incomprehension of the tasks of the proletarian dictatorship, are totally alien to Marxism, and, as a matter of fact, serve only to postpone the socialist revolution until people are different. No, we want the socialist revolution with people as they are now, with people who cannot dispense with subordination, control, and "foremen and accountants".
exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never be surmounted. And while it is true that literature and history contain heroic, romantic, glorious, even triumphant episodes in an exile’s life, these are no more than efforts meant to overcome the crippling sorrow of estrangement.
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