I had come at last and my heart was beating again strongly to a heart that could not know despair because it… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
Love doesn't grow on trees like apples in Eden - it's something you have to make. And you must use your imagination… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
I had from childhood not only the experience of love and truth common to all family life, but the idea of them… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
Life would die without poets, and democracy must have its spellbinders. — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
The truth is that life is hard and dangerous; that he who seeks his own happiness does not find it; that he… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
“Why,' I said, quite surprised by my own eloquence in inventing all this stuff, 'it happens every day. The old old story.… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
A perpetually new and lively world, but a dangerous one, full of tragedy and injustice. — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
I look upon life as a gift from God. I did nothing to earn it. Now that the time is coming to give it… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
It is a tragedy of the world that no one knows what he doesn't know - the less a man knows, the more sure… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
“Girl going past clinging to a young man's arm. Putting up her face like a duck to the moon. Drinking joy. Green in her… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
It is the tragedy of the world that no one knows what he doesn't know - and the less a man knows, the more… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
“Nothing is a masterpiece - a real masterpiece - till it's about two hundred years old. A picture is like a tree or a… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
Politics is like navigation in a sea without charts, and wise men live the lives of pilgrims. — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
It is sometimes said that toleration should be refused to the intolerant. In practice this would destroy it... The only remedy for dogmatism and… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
The concept, the label, is perpetually hiding from us all the nature of the real. — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
Old men when they begin to hear the last trumpet, on the morning breeze, often have a kind of absent-minded smile; like people listening.… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
A foul-mouthed oaf, a drunken laborer lying in a drain, a beaten wife with blackened eyes and torn clothes, cannot be made romantic to… — Joyce Cary Copy Share Image
