25 January 2010

a piece of Iris

Also I am lonely and (I suspect) suffering from incipient pangs of frustrated ambition. On the other hand life has innumerable consolations. Soft job, soft living ... Jesus Christ. Keep safe . Write!
I read a good deal — but not as much as I’d like. I write a little — but Oh Christ not one bit as much as I’d like. I want to write a long long & exceedingly obscure novel objectifying the queer conflicts I find within myself & observe in the characters of others. Like Proust I want to escape from the eternal push & rattle of time into the coolness & poise of a work of art. But all this requires peace & calm and time time time which I haven’t got oh blazes, hell I haven’t got it.
(Iris Murdoch catre Frank Thompson)

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