Lord of the Flies Quotes

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Maybe there is a beast… maybe it's only us.

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Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.

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The thing is - fear can't hurt you any more than a dream.

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We did everything adults would do. What went wrong?

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The greatest ideas are the simplest.

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I think women are foolish to pretend they are equal to men, they are far superior and always have been.

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Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill! You knew, didn’t you? I’m part of you? Close, close, close! I’m the reason why it’s no go? Why things are what they are?

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Sucks to your ass-mar!

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What are we? Humans? Or animals? Or savages?

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If faces were different when lit from above or below -- what was a face? What was anything?

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We've got to have rules and obey them. After all, we're not savages. We're English, and the English are best at everything.

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The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away.

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He found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable part of one's waking life was spent watching one's feet.

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They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate.

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The mask was a thing on it's own, behind which Jack hid, liberated from shame and self-conciousness.

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His voice rose under the black smoke before the burning wreckage of the island; and infected by that emotion, the other little boys began to shake and sob too. And in the middle of them, with filthy body, matted hair, and unwiped nose, Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of mans heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.

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Which is better--to have laws and agree, or to hunt and kill?

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They walked along, two continents of experience and feeling unable to communicate.

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Towards midnight the rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars. Then the breeze died too and there was no noise save the drip and tickle of water that ran out of clefts and spilled down, leaf by leaf, to the brown earth of the island. The air was cool, moist, and clear; and presently even the sound of the water was still. The beast lay huddled on the pale beach and the stains spread, inch by inch.The edge of the lagoon became a streak of phosphorescence which advanced minutely, as the great wave of the tide flowed. The clear water mirrored the clear sky and the angular bright constellations. The line of phosphorescence bulged about the sand grains and little pebbles; it held them each in a dimple of tension, then suddenly accepted them with an inaudible syllable and moved on.Along the shoreward edge of the shallows the advancing clearness was full of strange, moonbeam-bodied creatures with fiery eyes. Here and there a larger pebble clung to its own air and was covered with a coat of pearls. The tide swelled in over the rain-pitted sand and smoothed everything with a layer of silver. Now it touched the first of the stains that seeped from the broken body and the creatures made a moving patch of light as they gathered at the edge. The water rose further and dressed Simon's coarse hair with brightness. The line of his cheek silvered and the turn of his shoulder became sculptured marble. The strange, attendant creatures, with their fiery eyes and trailing vapours busied themselves round his head. The body lifted a fraction of an inch from the sand and a bubble of air escaped from the mouth with a wet plop. Then it turned gently in the water.Somewhere over the darkened curve of the world the sun and moon were pulling; and the film of water on the earth planet was held, bulging slightly on one side while the solid core turned. The great wave of the tide moved further along the island and the water lifted. Softly, surrounded by a fringe of inquisitive bright creatures, itself a silver shape beneath the steadfast constellations, Simon's dead body moved out towards the open sea.

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Maybe," he said hesitantly, "maybe there is a beast." [...] "What I mean is, maybe it's only us.

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I know there isn't no beast—not with claws and all that, I mean—but I know there isn't no fear, either."Piggy paused."Unless—"Ralph moved restlessly."Unless what?""Unless we get frightened of people.

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The rules!" shouted Ralph, "you're breaking the rules!""Who cares?

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People don't help much.

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There have been so many interpretations of the story that I'm not going to choose between them. Make your own choice. They contradict each other, the various choices. The only choice that really matters, the only interpretation of the story, if you want one, is your own. Not your teacher's, not your professor's, not mine, not a critic's, not some authority's. The only thing that matters is, first, the experience of being in the story, moving through it. Then any interpretation you like. If it's yours, then that's the right one, because what's in a book is not what an author thought he put into it, it's what the reader gets out of it.

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He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

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His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.

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the conch exploded into a thousand white fragments and ceased to exist.

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Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.

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What I mean is... maybe it's only us...

42

Roger stooped, picked up a stone, aimed and threw it at Henry-threw it to miss. The stone, that token of preposterous time, bounced five yards to Henry's right and fell in the water. Roger gathered a handful of stones and began to throw them. Yet there was a space round Henry, perhaps six yards in diameter, into which he dare not throw. Here, invisible yet strong, was the taboo of the old life. Round the squatting child was the protection of parents and school and policemen and the law. Roger was conditioned by a civilization that knew nothing of him and was in ruins.

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I'm scared of him," said Piggy, "and that's why I know him. If you're scared of someone you hate him but you can't stop thinking about him. You kid yourself he's all right really, an' then when you see him again; it's like asthma an' you can't breathe...

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I believe man suffers from an appalling ignorance of his own nature. I produce my own view in the belief that it may be something like the truth.

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Ralph... would treat the day's decisions as though he were playing chess. The only trouble was that he would never be a very good chess player.

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The beast was harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as possible.

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If I blow the conch and they don't come back; then we've had it. We shan't keep the fire going. We'll be like animals. We'll never be rescued.""If you don't blow, we'll soon be animals anyway.

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The water rose further and dressed Simon's coarse hair with brightness. The line of his cheek silvered and the turn of his shoulder became sculptured marble...

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Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill! You knew, didn't you?' said the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter. 'You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it’s no go? Why things are what they are?

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The skull regarded Ralph like one who knows all the answers but won't tell.

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We're not savages. We're English.

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Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Kill the pig! Bash him in!

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The trouble was, if you were a chief you had to think, you had to be wise.

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He wanted to explain how people were never quite what you thought they were.

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Which is better -- to be a pack of painted Indians like you are, or to be sensible like Ralph is?Which is better -- to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill?Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?

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And in the middle of them, with filthy body, matted hair, and unwiped nose, Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.

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Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!

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The pile of guts was a black blob of flies that buzzed like a saw. After a while these flies found Simon. Gorged, they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank. They tickled under his nostrils and played leapfrog on his thighs. They were black and iridescent green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung on his stick and grinned. At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the white teeth and dim eyes, the blood—and his gaze was held by that ancient, inescapable recognition.

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They agreed passionately out of the depths of their tormented lives.

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I'm scared of him," said Piggy, "and that's why I know him. If you're scared of someone you hate him but you can't stop thinking about him. You kid yourself he's all right really, an' then when you see him again, it's like asthma an' you can't breathe.

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You'll get back to where you came from.

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They accepted the pleasures of morning, the bright sun, the whelming sea and sweet air, as a time when play was good and life so full that hope was not necessary and therefore forgotten.

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