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

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

What kind of human person has a favorite eraser?

The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away. Once there was this and that; and now-and the ship had gone.

Listen, Ralph. Never mind what's sense. That's gone---

You're a beast and a swine and a bloody, bloody thief!

It wasn't until I was 37 that I grasped the great truth that you've got to write your own books and nobody else's, and then everything followed from there.

Life's scientific, but we don't know, do we? Not certainly, I mean.

No human endeavour can ever be wholly good... it must always have a cost.

We musn't let anything happen to Piggy, must we?

The half-shut eyes were dim with the infinite cynicism of adult life.

He knelt among the shadows and felt his isolation bitterly. They were savages it was true; but they were human.

The air was heavy with unspoken knowledge. Sam twisted and the obscene word shot out of him. "--dance?" Memory of the dance that none of them had attended shook all four boys convulsively.

The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers... Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.

Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!" said the head.; "You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close!

The greatest pleasure is not - say - sex or geometry. It is just understanding. And if you can get people to understand their own humanity - well, that's the job of the writer.

Towards midnight the rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars.

Percival was mouse-coloured and had not been very attractive even to his mother.

He forgot his wounds, his hunger and thirst, and became fear; hopeless fear

People don't help much.' He wanted to explain how people were never quite what you thought they were.

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

But nobody else understands about the fire. If someone threw you a rope when you were drowning. If a doctor said take this because if you don't take you'll die - you would, wouldn't you?

There ought to be some mode of life where all love is good, where one love can't compete with another but adds to it.

The flames, as though they were a kind of wild life, crept as a jaguar creeps on its belly toward a line of birch-like saplings that fledged an outcrop of the pink rock.

It's simpler to believe in a miracle.

This was a savage whose image refused to blend with that ancient picture of a boy in shorts and a shirt.

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.

I came to see you two-" Words could not express the dull pain of these things.

Other people could stand up and speak to an assembly, apparently, without that dreadful feeling of pressure of personality; could say what they would as though they were speaking to only one person

If only one had time to think!

I wish my auntie was here." "I wish my father.. O, what's the use?

Life […] is scientific, that’s what it is.

There's a kinship among men who have sat by a dying fire and measured the worth of their life by it.

The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon.

The crucifixion should never be depicted. It is a horror to be veiled.

You don't even care enough about us to hate us, do you?

The way towards simplicity is through outrage.

I cannot convince myself that my mental capacities are important enough to justify either the good or the harm they started.

I do think that art that doesn't communicate is useless.

Perhaps the various burnings of the Alexandria Library were necessary, like those Australian Forest Fires without which the new seeds cannot burst their shells and make a young, healthy forest.

Fat lot of good we are," said Ralph. "Three blind mice.

What did it mean? A stick sharpened at both ends. What was there in that?

The writer probably knows what he meant when he wrote a book, but he should immediately forget what he meant when he's written it.

And dying is more natural than living, because what could be more unnatural than that panicstricken thing leaping and falling like a last flame beneath the ribs?

His manual of heaven and hell lay open before me, and I could perceive my nothingness in this scheme.

You let the fire out.

Who would sharpen a point aginst the darkness of the world?

I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?

A single drop of water that had escaped Piggy's fingers now flashed on the delicate curve like a star.