Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other.
Lawrence DurrellRead
The whole Mediterranean, the sculpture, the palm, the gold beads, the bearded heroes, the wine, the ideas, the ships, the moonlight, the winged gorgons, the bronze men, the philosophers - all of it seems to rise in the sour, pungent taste of these black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the deep cultural and historical significance of olives, connecting them to ancient Mediterranean civilization.
Lawrence Durrell's quote evokes a vivid image of the Mediterranean region, illustrating how its rich history, art, and culture are embodied in the simple yet profound taste of black olives. By emphasizing the age and timelessness of olives, Durrell highlights their connection to the essence of Mediterranean life, symbolizing not only sustenance but also the enduring legacy of ancient civilizations and their contributions to art and philosophy.
In practice
In a speech about the significance of Mediterranean cuisine at a culinary event.
Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other.
I had become, with the approach of night, once more aware of loneliness and time - those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything.
Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will-whatever we may think.
The heaviest impact of the work of art is in the guts. Art does not reason. It manhandles you and changes you.
Like all young men I set out to be a genius, but mercifully laughter intervened.
We are the children of our landscape; it dictates behavior and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it.
But in Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only a wristwatch or a diary page. So no matter that I have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, I keep trying, hoping that one day I'll write a poem I can be proud to let sit in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed.
I did documentary film for a long time, and I spent a lot of time behind the camera, fervently wishing that the reality I was filming would conform to my narrative propriety. But you can't control it.
Favorite poems are like favorite children. We definitely have them but we never tell as the others would have their feelings hurt.
Beauty is perfect in its imperfections, so you just have to go with the imperfections.
It's a maddening thing in itself to look at an old poem of yours. To translate it is even more maddening.
In the belly of the furnace of creativity is a sexual fire; the flames twine about each other in fear and delight. The same sort of coiling, at a cooler, slower pace, is what the life of this planet looks like. The enormous spirals of typhoons, the twists and turns of mountain ranges and gorges, the waves and the deep ocean currents - a dragonlike writhing.
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