John le Carré Quotes

He has his chin on his chest and his eyes down. He is thinking of his new baby, his new novel, tomorrow's dance contest. He is thinking of everything except what he is thinking about.

It was from us they learnt the secret of life: that we grow old without growing wise. They realised that nothing happened when we grew up: no blinding light on the road to Damascus, no sudden feeling of maturity.

A good man knows when to sacrifice himself, Brother Michael liked to say. A bad man survives but loses his soul.

It's the oldest question of all, George. Who can spy on the spies?

He was learning to live on several planes at once. The art of it was to forget everything except the ground you stood on and the face you spoke from at that moment.

Why am I despising you when I'm about to change your life?

She's become a Russian again, he thought. When something works, she's grateful. When it doesn't work, it's life.

The more identities a man has, the more they express the person they conceal.

A lot of people see doubt as legitimate philosophical posture. They think of themselves in the middle, whereas of course really, they're nowhere.

Do you know what love is? I'll tell you: it is whatever you can still betray.

...what woman has ever stopped by a want of information? She felt. And despised him for not acting in accordance with her feelings.

"And we dress, sir — ?" he murmured, feeling Osnard's gaze burning the nape of his neck. "Most of my gentlemen seem to favour left these days. I don't think it's political."
This was his standard joke, calculated to raise a laugh even with the most sedate of his customers. Not with Osnard apparently.
"Never know where the bloody thing is. Bobs about like a windsock," he replied dismissively.

There are moments which are made up of too much stuff for them to be lived at the time they occur.

If they do not know what they want, how can they be so certain they are right?

We colonise them, Your Graces, we corrupt them, we exploit them, we bomb them, sack their cities, ignore their culture, and confound them with the infinite variety of our religious sects. We are hideous not only in their sight, Monsignors, but in their nostrils as well — the stink of the round-eye is abhorrent to them and we’re too thick even to know it. Yet when we have done our worst, and more than our worst, my sons, we have barely scratched the surface of the Asian smile.” Other