"Good writing excites me, and makes life worth living"
About this Quote
For Pinter, “good writing” isn’t a hobbyhorse or a tasteful preference; it’s an electric charge. The verb choice matters: “excites” suggests a bodily jolt, a nervous-system response, the opposite of genteel admiration. Coming from a playwright famous for menace in the mundane and silence that talks louder than dialogue, the line reads like a credo: language, when it’s sharp enough, reorders your perception. It doesn’t decorate life. It intensifies it.
The second clause is deliberately excessive: “makes life worth living.” Pinter isn’t arguing that art is nice to have; he’s staking a claim against deadening routine, political euphemism, and the thick fog of received phrases. In his plays, people hide behind small talk, power games, and half-truths. “Good writing” is what cuts through that. It exposes what’s being withheld, what’s being threatened, what’s being desired. That’s the subtext: the world is full of language that anesthetizes, and the rare sentence that doesn’t is a kind of rescue.
Context amplifies the stakes. Pinter wrote in postwar Britain, as mass media and official rhetoric grew slicker and more coercive; later, his public political speeches made clear how much he distrusted state-sanctioned narratives. So this isn’t just writerly self-regard. It’s a declaration that precision and honesty in language can be an ethical force, even a survival mechanism. “Good writing,” for him, is not escape from life. It’s the moment life stops lying.
The second clause is deliberately excessive: “makes life worth living.” Pinter isn’t arguing that art is nice to have; he’s staking a claim against deadening routine, political euphemism, and the thick fog of received phrases. In his plays, people hide behind small talk, power games, and half-truths. “Good writing” is what cuts through that. It exposes what’s being withheld, what’s being threatened, what’s being desired. That’s the subtext: the world is full of language that anesthetizes, and the rare sentence that doesn’t is a kind of rescue.
Context amplifies the stakes. Pinter wrote in postwar Britain, as mass media and official rhetoric grew slicker and more coercive; later, his public political speeches made clear how much he distrusted state-sanctioned narratives. So this isn’t just writerly self-regard. It’s a declaration that precision and honesty in language can be an ethical force, even a survival mechanism. “Good writing,” for him, is not escape from life. It’s the moment life stops lying.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
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