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Danh ngôn của Iris Murdoch (Sứ mệnh: 2)

People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.
Happiness is a matter of one's most ordinary and everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self.
Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
We can only learn to love by loving.
The cry of equality pulls everyone down.
Art is the final cunning of the human soul which would rather do anything than face the gods.
The priesthood is a marriage. People often start by falling in love, and they go on for years without realizing that love must change into some other love which is so unlike it that it can hardly be recognized as love at all.
There is no substitute for the comfort supplied by the utterly taken-for-granted relationship.
All art is a struggle to be, in a particular sort of way, virtuous.
Between saying and doing, many a pair of shoes is worn out.
Perhaps when distant people on other planets pick up some wavelength of ours all they hear is a continuous scream.
Every man needs two women: a quiet home-maker, and a thrilling nymph.
Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is.
We live in a fantasy world, a world of illusion. The great task in life is to find reality.
In almost every marriage there is a selfish and an unselfish partner. A pattern is set up and soon becomes inflexible, of one person always making the demands and one person always giving way.