The Black Prince

by Iris Murdoch

‘Shall I come too?’ said Francis. ‘I might be useful. After all, I am still a doctor in the eyes of God.’

Art is concerned not just primarily but absolutely with truth. It is another name for truth. The artist is learning a special language in which to reveal truth.

Some clever writer (probably a Frenchman) has said: it is not enough to succeed; others must fail.

When you find out that somebody is Jewish they look different. I had only after many years of knowing him discovered that Hartbourne was a Jew. He immediately began to look much cleverer.

Of course I could see now that she was Jewish: that curvy clever mouth, that wily rounded off nose, those veiled snaky eyes. She was as handsome as her dress, a queen in Israel.

I esteem you and admire you and rely on you and – well, I love you. That’s what I wanted to say.’ ‘Rachel, what a delightful thing, it’s made my day!’ ‘Be serious for a moment, Bradley.’

Unlikeable

‘There’s a dignity and a power in silence.’ ‘Silence?’ said Francis. ‘You’ve broken that already.’

And now there began to be heard in the background that awful and inimitably menacing sound of an orchestra tuning up.

I’ll forgive him this since he became a music-lover later.

‘No one has ever been sick for me before,’ said Julian. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. It was partly Strauss.’

How wonderful and terrible it had been when she leapt out of the car.

I want to have the oil done and I could get a bit of petrol.

You have a rented car and you’re taking it for a oil change?