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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

7 years

Books are like love letters; they are destined for a particular person. -- Lawrence Durrell (1960)

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

1 year

Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected, and innovative we find them when we actually read them. — Italo Calvino

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4 years

In all this summer dust O Vincent You passed through my loyal mind. In these shining canvases I commend A fatal diagnosis of light, more light. Have mercy on us! You went mad, they say, the companionship Of angels grew too loud to bear. — Lawrence Durrell Van Gogh #dotd

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2 years

In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. — Marcel Proust

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@DurrellSociety

3 years

Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk With an old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they stalk. Only thin smoke without flame From the heaps of couch-grass; Yet this will go onward the same Though Dynasties pass. — Thomas Hardy Ravilious

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4 years

The Cities We Lost Cities such as Alexandria, Smyrna (Izmir), Beirut, Selanik (Thessaloniki) and Constantinople (Istanbul) shrivelled. Today there is no boat service from Alexandria to Beirut or Istanbul, let alone from Izmir to Thessaloniki.

The cities we lost

What lessons can the Eastern Mediterranean’s once-cosmopolitan cities teach us about our strife-torn present?

www.aljazeera.com

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

4 years

In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. — Marcel Proust

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

1 year

Though the town is a series of unfinished intentions, Venetian, French, British, it remains a masterpiece; I doubt if there is any little town as elegantly beautiful in the whole of Greece. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu Town

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@DurrellSociety

10 months

Each new autumn is closer to the last autumn we'll have, and the same is true of spring or summer; but autumn, by its nature, reminds us that all things will end, which is something we're apt to forget when we look around us in spring or summer. — Fernando Pessoa

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

1 year

In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. — Marcel Proust

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@DurrellSociety

3 years

Quite the most enchanting maniac I've ever met. Speaks five languages really well. We sat up in my churchyard till three every morning reading aloud. Can't tell you what a wonderful time I had talking books — first time for years. — Lawrence Durrell on Patrick Leigh Fermor #botd

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@DurrellSociety

3 years

The whole Mediterranean—all of it seems to rise in the sour, pungent taste of these black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water. — Lawrence Durrell inspiration: Constantine "Costa" Manos (1964)

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@DurrellSociety

1 year

The best account of all this period was Gerry—my brother, you know—his My Family, which may be as good as Huckleberry Finn. I think that it is a real classic, and I am delighted that children believe that too. — Lawrence Durrell, on brother Gerald's lovely book #WorldBookDay

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2 years

You have two birth-places. You have the place where you were really born and then you have a place of predilection where you really wake up to reality. This is my predilection place. It's a shrine of St. Arsenius. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu

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4 years

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell photo: Frédéric Boissonnas 1919

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8 months

We always seemed to be chasing the sun. — Margo Durrell Corfu

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3 years

Sorrow is implicit in love as gravitation is implicit in mass. — Lawrence Durrell Anouk Aimée Un homme et une femme (1966)

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1 year

The boat rides beautifully. She turns upwind like a dancer and falters into the still water under the house like a vessel of silk. — Lawrence Durrell, Prospero’s Cell (1945) Frédéric Boissonnas, "Au sortir du golfe." L’Image de la Grèce (1919)

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@DurrellSociety

11 months

One has too much tenderness for the little poems of one's own which have always sat about in corners and never been asked for a dance by anybody. — T. S. Eliot, writing to Anne Ridler (1941) photograph: Ida Kar

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3 years

I know not what tomorrow will bring. ⁠— Fernando Pessoa Pessoa's last words, written shortly before his death (1935)

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1 year

Who among us, looking back down the path of no return, can say they followed it in the right way? — Fernando Pessoa

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4 years

The Durrells have a small peasant house, but a lovely garden. They drink red wine from morning till night, which keeps everyone glowing but never really drunk. I returned this morning tired out, but with my spiritual batteries recharged for years to come. — Anaïs Nin (Sauer)

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2 years

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell Frédéric Boissonnas

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@DurrellSociety

7 months

The sea is high again today, with a thrilling flush of wind. In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of spring. — Lawrence Durrell The Alexandria Quartet (Faber 1957-1960)

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2 years

The sea is high again today, with a thrilling flush of wind. In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of spring. — Lawrence Durrell The Alexandria Quartet (Faber 1957-1960)

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@DurrellSociety

1 year

The title of this poem is taken from the name of the tree which stands outside Bellapaix Abbey in Cyprus, and which confers the gift of pure idleness on all who sit under it. — Lawrence Durrell Vittorio Giardino

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3 years

It's curious—something one didn't realise at the time—but my mother allowed us to be. She worried over us, she advised (when we asked) and the advice always ended with, 'But anyway, dear, you must do what *you* think best.' — Gerald Durrell (b. 7 January 1925) Suschitzky

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9 months

The best account of all this period was Gerry—my brother, you know—his My Family, which may be as good as Huckleberry Finn. I think that it is a real classic, and I am delighted that children believe that too. — Lawrence Durrell, on brother Gerald's lovely book

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1 year

Everything seemed right to me. Out of the sea, as if Homer himself had arranged it for me, the islands bobbed up, lonely, deserted, mysterious in the fading light. I couldn't ask for more, nor did I want anything more. — Henry Miller, en route to Corfu photo: George Seferis

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1 year

Clea once asked him: ‘Do you not miss the sea, Scobie?’ and the old man replied simply, without hesitation, ‘Every night I put to sea in my dreams.’ — Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet Corfou: La Citadelle (uncredited)

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4 months

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell Frédéric Boissonnas

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2 years

It's curious — something one didn't realise at the time — but my mother allowed us to be. She worried over us, she advised (when we asked) and the advice always ended with, 'But anyway, dear, you must do what *you* think best.' — Gerald Durrell (b. 7 January 1925) Suschitzky

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

3 years

Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected, and innovative we find them when we actually read them. — Italo Calvino

3

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@DurrellSociety

4 years

For those of us who feel deeply and who are at all conscious of the inextricable tangle of human thought there is only one response to be made — ironic tenderness and silence. — Lawrence Durrell

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2 years

The war was an exhausting moment to think about writing because there was no future. It forced one to do what one should always do—namely, not think about tomorrow and live entirely for today. — Lawrence Durrell, recalling 1940s Alexandria appreciation @AnneLouiseAvery

Anne Louise Avery

@AnneLouiseAvery

2 years

Lost days on the edge of war - my father, Ronnie (top left), and friends on a gilded afternoon in Alexandria, sometime in 1940. @DurrellSociety

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1 year

There’s no new land, my friend, no New sea; for the city will follow you, In the same streets you’ll wander endlessly, The same mental suburbs slip from youth to age, In the same house go white at last — The city is a cage. — Constantine P. Cavafy tr. Lawrence Durrell

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3 years

Now is the time to break logs for the great fireplace we have built ourselves, and smell the warm enriching odor of cypress wood, tar, varnish and linseed oil. It is time to prepare for the first gale of tears and sunsets from Albania and the East. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu

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@DurrellSociety

8 months

Melancholy, I went out onto the balcony — I went out so I might clear my head by seeing at least a little of this city that I love, a little movement in the street and in the shops. — Cavafy Anna Bajocchi, out on the balcony (Alexandria, 1952)

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@DurrellSociety

1 year

Who among us, looking back down the path of no return, can say they followed it in the right way? — Fernando Pessoa

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@DurrellSociety

5 years

In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. — Marcel Proust

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

1 year

The title of this poem is taken from the name of the tree which stands outside Bellapaix Abbey in Cyprus, and which confers the gift of pure idleness on all who sit under it. — Lawrence Durrell Vittorio Giardino

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3 years

The sea is high again today, with a thrilling flush of wind. In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of spring. — Lawrence Durrell Justine (Faber 1957)

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3 years

We always seemed to be chasing the sun. — Margo Durrell b. 4 May 1919

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2 years

But that is what islands are for; they are places where different destinies can meet and intersect in the full isolation of time. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu

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1 year

It is a tree which grows on you when you live with it, and when the north wind turns it inside out — from grey green to silver — one can imagine with accuracy the exact shade of Athena's smiling eyes. — Lawrence Durrell Van Gogh, The White Cottage Among the Olive Trees (1889)

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1 year

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell Frédéric Boissonnas

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2 months

Justine: ‘Always astonished by the force of my own emotions — tearing the heart out of a book with my fingers like a fresh loaf.’ — Lawrence Durrell Anouk Aimée (1932-2024)

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1 year

The difficulty is not to return to Corfu, but to leave it. — Lawrence Durrell Walter Hege

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@DurrellSociety

1 year

You rise each morning to a new day, a new world, which has to be created from scratch. Each day is a brilliant improvisation with full orchestra — the light on the sea, the foliage, the stabbing cypresses, the silver spindrift olives. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu (Hege)

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@DurrellSociety

3 years

Clea once asked him: ‘Do you not miss the sea, Scobie?’ and the old man replied simply, without hesitation, ‘Every night I put to sea in my dreams.’ — Lawrence Durrell, Justine (1957) Corfou: La Citadelle

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1 year

Clea once asked him: ‘Do you not miss the sea, Scobie?’ and the old man replied simply, without hesitation, ‘Every night I put to sea in my dreams.’ — Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet Corfou: La Citadelle (uncredited)

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@DurrellSociety

4 months

You rise each morning to a new day, a new world, which has to be created from scratch. Each day is a brilliant improvisation with full orchestra — the light on the sea, the foliage, the stabbing cypresses, the silver spindrift olives. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu (Hege)

5

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204

Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

3 years

Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected, and innovative we find them when we actually read them. — Italo Calvino

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198

Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

5 months

The Durrells have a small peasant house, but a lovely garden. They drink red wine from morning till night, which keeps everyone glowing but never really drunk. I returned this morning tired out, but with my spiritual batteries recharged for years to come. — Anaïs Nin Sauer

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@DurrellSociety

4 years

The fault I find with our journalism is that it forces us to take an interest in some fresh triviality or other every day, whereas only three or four books in a lifetime give us anything that is of real importance. — Marcel Proust #dotd

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1 year

You rise each morning to a new day, a new world, which has to be created from scratch. Each day is a brilliant improvisation with full orchestra — the light on the sea, the foliage, the stabbing cypresses, the silver spindrift olives. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu (Hege)

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8 months

Clea once asked him: ‘Do you not miss the sea, Scobie?’ and the old man replied simply, without hesitation, ‘Every night I put to sea in my dreams.’ — Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet Corfou: La Citadelle (uncredited)

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5 years

When I look back I realise I was an awkward, lonely child, a hopeless introvert, shy and withdrawn. Books were my best friends. Inside each novel I found a universe far more colourful and real than the one in which I lived. — Elif Şafak on #books & #reading Photo: Roo Lewis

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1 year

The whole Mediterranean — all of it seems to rise in the sour, pungent taste of these black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water. — Lawrence Durrell Constantine "Costa" Manos (1964)

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4 years

But of course the heart of it all is Avignon with its honey-coloured, rose-faded walls and machicolated towers rising steeply from a country dusted silver with olives, and — more likely than not — swept by the roaring mistral. — Lawrence Durrell #avignon

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4 years

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell Frédéric Boissonnas

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1 year

But that is what islands are for; they are places where different destinies can meet and intersect in the full isolation of time. — Lawrence Durrell Kalami Bay, Corfu

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2 years

The words of others are mistakes of our hearing, shipwrecks of our understanding. How confidently we believe our meanings of other people's words. — Fernando Pessoa

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@DurrellSociety

6 months

She was ‘white of heart’, in the expressive Arabic phrase, and painting the darkness of Justine’s head and shoulders she suddenly felt as if, stroke by stroke, the brush itself had begun to imitate caresses she had neither foreseen nor even thought to permit. — Lawrence Durrell

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6 years

"You have two birth-places. You have the place where you were really born, and then you have a place of predeliction where you really wake up to reality. This is my second birth-place." — Lawrence Durrell Shrine of St. Arsenius, Corfu (LD's "second birth-place")

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3 years

A world within a crystal turning, guarded by the green wicks of cypresses. — Lawrence Durrell Klimt, Eglise de Cassone (1913)

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1 year

Human character? I imagine that what we call personality may be an illusion, and in thinking of it as a stable thing we are trying to put a lid on a box with no sides. Human beings are really walking question marks — hows and whys and perhapses. — Lawrence Durrell

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3 years

A book is not only a friend, it makes friends for you. When you have possessed a book with mind and spirit, you are enriched. But when you pass it on you are enriched threefold. — Henry Miller

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6 months

The Cities We Lost Cities such as Alexandria, Smyrna (Izmir), Beirut, Selanik (Thessaloniki) and Constantinople (Istanbul) shrivelled. Today there is no boat service from Alexandria to Beirut or Istanbul, let alone from Izmir to Thessaloniki.

The cities we lost

What lessons can the Eastern Mediterranean’s once-cosmopolitan cities teach us about our strife-torn present?

www.aljazeera.com

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@DurrellSociety

2 months

I know not what tomorrow will bring. ⁠— Fernando Pessoa Pessoa's last words, written shortly before his death (1935)

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1 year

I know not what tomorrow will bring. ⁠— Fernando Pessoa Pessoa's last words, written shortly before his death (1935)

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2 years

Somewhere between Calabria and Corfu the blue really begins. Other countries may offer you discoveries in manners or lore or landscape; Greece offers you something harder — the discovery of yourself. — Lawrence Durrell Elliott Erwitt

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6 years

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell (photo: Frédéric Boissonnas 1919)

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1 year

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell Frédéric Boissonnas

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2 years

One has too much tenderness for the little poems of one's own which have always sat about in corners and never been asked for a dance by anybody. — T. S. Eliot, writing to Anne Ridler (1941) photo: Ida Kar

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1 year

Now tired men throw back the shutters of their balconies and step blinking into the pale hot light — etiolated flowers of afternoons spent in anguish, tossing upon ugly beds, bandaged by dreams. — Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet Villa Ambron (destroyed 2017)

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6 years

I sometimes think that I learned more from studying him than I did from studying philosophy. His exquisite balance of irony and tenderness would have put him among the saints had he been a religious man. — Lawrence Durrell, making his libation for C. P. Cavafy (b. & d. 29 April)

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10 months

The title of this poem is taken from the name of the tree which stands outside Bellapaix Abbey in Cyprus, and which confers the gift of pure idleness on all who sit under it. — Lawrence Durrell Vittorio Giardino

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2 years

Everything seemed right to me. Out of the sea, as if Homer himself had arranged it for me, the islands bobbed up, lonely, deserted, mysterious in the fading light. I couldn't ask for more, nor did I want anything more. — Henry Miller, en route to Corfu photo: George Seferis

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5 years

History is never kind to those who expect anything of her. — Lawrence Durrell photo: Neil Libbert

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2 years

Though the town is a series of unfinished intentions, Venetian, French, British, it remains a masterpiece; I doubt if there is any little town as elegantly beautiful in the whole of Greece. — Lawrence Durrell, describing Corfu Town

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3 years

Human character? I imagine that what we call personality may be an illusion, and in thinking of it as a stable thing we are trying to put a lid on a box with no sides. Human beings are really walking question marks — hows and whys and perhapses. — Lawrence Durrell

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2 months

Though the town is a series of unfinished intentions, Venetian, French, British, it remains a masterpiece; I doubt if there is any little town as elegantly beautiful in the whole of Greece. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu Town

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3 years

The eyes understand wordlessly — for words conceal more than they reveal. — Lawrence Durrell Eve Cohen Durrell (photographed by Lawrence Durrell)

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6 years

The Mediterranean is an absurdly small sea; the length and greatness of its history makes us dream it larger than it is. — Lawrence Durrell (photo: Frédéric Boissonnas, 'Au Lever du Soleil')

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1 year

Sometimes at evening I might come upon her sitting absently alone on the little painted wooden terrace of the Café Baudrot, gazing into space. Her sketching blocks lay before her, unopened. On her lips, the tiny moustache of cream from her café viennois. — Lawrence Durrell

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2 months

Prospero's Cell is still, I believe, one of Lawrence Durrell's best books — is indeed, in its gem-like miniature quality, among the best books ever written. I keep it handy for times when I seem to be forgetting the geniality of life. — Freya Stark

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5 years

The whole Mediterranean — all of it seems to rise in the sour, pungent taste of these black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water. — Lawrence Durrell photo: "Costa" Manos (1964)

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3 years

Everything seemed right to me. Out of the sea, as if Homer himself had arranged it for me, the islands bobbed up, lonely, deserted, mysterious in the fading light. I couldn't ask for more, nor did I want anything more. — Henry Miller, en route to Corfu photo: George Seferis

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1 year

A white house set like a dice on a rock already venerable with the scars of wind and water. We are upon a bare promontory with its beautiful clean surface of metamorphic stone covered in olive and ilex. This is become our unregretted home. A world. Corcyra. — Lawrence Durrell

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5 years

Clea once asked him: ‘Do you not miss the sea, Scobie?’ and the old man replied simply, without hesitation, ‘Every night I put to sea in my dreams.’ — Lawrence Durrell, Justine Corfou: La Citadelle (uncredited)

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1 year

An unframed Turner sunset burned itself slowly, ruinously away into a fuliginous dusk, touched here and there with life as if from a breath passing over a bed of embers. — Lawrence Durrell J. M. W. Turner, 'The Scarlet Sunset'

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4 years

A shelf of books and a shelf of good wine: this is all that is needed to orchestrate the good life. But your books and your wine must be choice. — Lawrence Durrell LD with his beloved wife, Claude-Marie Vincendon Photo: Jean-Claude Sauer

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3 years

Sorrow is implicit in love as gravitation is implicit in mass. — Lawrence Durrell Anouk Aimée Un homme et une femme (1966)

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5 months

You have two birth-places. You have the place where you were really born and then you have a place of predilection where you really wake up to reality. This is my predilection place. It's a shrine of St. Arsenius. — Lawrence Durrell b. 27 February 1912 photo: Lawrence Durrell

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1 year

Sometimes at evening I might come upon her sitting absently alone on the little painted wooden terrace of the Café Baudrot, gazing into space. On her lips, the tiny moustache of cream from her café viennois. . . . — Lawrence Durrell Jane Birkin (Giancarlo Botti)

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8 months

A shelf of books and a shelf of good wine: this is all that is needed to orchestrate the good life. But your books and your wine must be choice. — Lawrence Durrell Lawrence Durrell & his beloved wife, Claude-Marie Vincendon photograph: Jean-Claude Sauer

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3 years

Her smile washes the Seven Cities. — Lawrence Durrell

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@DurrellSociety

2 years

#χαίρε — this single word, “Be Happy,” serving both as a farewell and an admonition, goes to your heart with the whole impact of the Greek style of mind, the Greek orientation to life and death. — Lawrence Durrell Corfu

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Durrell Society

@DurrellSociety

3 years

Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected, and innovative we find them when we actually read them. — Italo Calvino

2

38

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