Philip Roth

United States
Born on 19 Mar 1933
Writer

Quotes

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Too late, but I understand. That we don't perish of understanding everything too late, that is a miracle. But we do perish of that -- of just that.

Sabbath's Theater
The danger with hatred is, once you start in on it, you get a hundred times more than you bargained for. Once you start, you can't stop.

The Human Stain
You have a conscience, and a conscience is a valuable attribute, but not if it begins to make you think you were to blame for what is far beyond the scope of your responsibility.

Nemesis
Like all enjoyable things, you see, it has unenjoyable parts to it.

The Dying Animal
You be greater than your feelings. I don't demand this of you - life does. Otherwise you'll be washed away by feelings. You'll be washed out to sea and never seen again.

Indignation
Writing turns you into somebody who's always wrong. The illusion that you may get it right someday is the perversity that draws you on.

American Pastoral
Old age isn't a battle: old age is a massacre.

Everyman
We don�t just forget things because they don�t matter but also forget things because they matter too much because each of us remembers and forgets in a pattern whose labyrinthine windings are an identification mark no less distinctive than a fingerprintit�s.

American Pastoral
Dreams? If only they had been! But I don't need dreams, Doctor, that's why I hardly have them - because I have this life instead. With me it all happens in broad daylight!

Portnoy's Complaint
I am marked like a road map from head to toe with my repressions. You can travel the length and breadth of my body over superhighways of shame and inhibition and fear.

Portnoy's Complaint
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On Anger: "For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind."
Essays
On Destiny: "Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today."
Human, All Too Human
On Friendship: "A crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
Essays