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John Anthony Burgess Wilson foi um escritor, compositor e crítico britânico.

Prolífico e controverso, grande parte da sua obra ainda permanece no anonimato, sendo lembrado principalmente pelo décimo oitavo livro, Laranja Mecânica . Seus livros, críticas e resenhas são marcados por grande sátira social. James Joyce — de quem Burgess era admirador e estudioso — é considerado a mais marcante influência no trabalho de Anthony Burgess.

Burgess cedo ficou órfão de mãe, vítima da gripe espanhola. O pequeno John foi, desde então, criado por uma tia e, mais tarde, pela madrasta. Estudou literatura e língua inglesa na Universidade de Manchester. Foi compositor, serviu por seis anos ao exército inglês na II Guerra Mundial e tornou-se oficial na Ásia e, mais tarde, professor, trabalhando inclusive para o Ministério de Educação na Malásia. Com a luta pela independência da Malásia o deixando desempregado e tendo sido diagnosticado com um doença fatal, Burgess entrou em frenesi literário em 1959, preocupado em deixar sua esposa sem recursos financeiros. A previsão médica estava errada. Ele viveu até 1993, enquanto sua esposa, Llwela Isherwood Jones, morreu de cirrose hepática em 1968. No mesmo ano, Burgess casou-se com Liliana Macellari, uma linguista e tradutora italiana, com quem conviveu até sua morte.

A mais célebre fábula de ficção científica de Anthony Burgess, "Laranja Mecânica", é um libelo pelo livre-arbítrio. Burgess preocupava-se com a ampla utilização do behaviorismo em clínicas, consultórios e prisões. O aumento a delinquência juvenil tanto no Ocidente capitalista quanto na Rússia soviética foi outro catalisador do livro cuja língua, inclusive, é um inglês russificado, de gírias abundantes. O autor retornou ao tema de Laranja Mecânica em Enderby Outside e A Clockwork Testament, or Enderby's End , livros que tiveram fria acolhida. Wikipedia  

✵ 25. Fevereiro 1917 – 22. Novembro 1993
Anthony Burgess photo
Anthony Burgess: 310 citações3 Curtidas

Anthony Burgess Frases famosas

“Ria e o mundo rirá com você, ronque e você dormirá sozinho.”

Anthony Burgess

Laugh and the world laughs with you; snore and you sleep alone.
Inside Mr. Enderby‎ - Página 43, de Anthony Burgess - Heinemann, 1963 - 252 páginas

“A lealdade de Ernest era difícil de se conquistar e podia desaparecer com enorme facilidade.”

Anthony Burgess

citado em Revista Veja http://veja.abril.com.br/260700/p_086.html, Edição 1 659 - 26/7/2000

“Bondade é que se escolhe. Quando um homem não pode escolher, ele deixa de ser um homem.”

Anthony Burgess livro Laranja Mecânica

A Clockwork Orange

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“A violência sem sentido é uma prerrogativa da juventude, que tem muita energia, mas pouco talento para o construtivo.”

Anthony Burgess

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“O amor parece inevitável, necessário, tão normal e tão fácil quanto o processo da respiração.”

Anthony Burgess

Anthony Burgess frases e citações

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“A igreja sustenta que pode ser maltratada, mas os punhos que maltratam conhecem sua própria impotência.”

Anthony Burgess

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“Os homens são influenciados por grandes palavras vazias, chiqueiros que incham as pálpebras e impedem a visão da verdade.”

Anthony Burgess

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“Ele ordenharia o homem branco…. O homem branco tinha mais dinheiro do que bom senso.”

Anthony Burgess

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“Os idiomas nunca param. A ortografia moderna cristaliza as pronúncias perdidas: o visual nunca alcança o aural.”

Anthony Burgess

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“Eu assisti as aldeias cinzentas mancando, o vento rasgando cartazes rasgados de eventos já realizados. O que eu precisava, é claro, era de uma bebida.”

Anthony Burgess

Anthony Burgess: Frases em inglês

“We can no longer expect the one big book, the single achievement, to be an author's claim to posterity's regard. We shall be more inclined to assess the stature of a novelist by his ability to create what the French call an oeuvre, to present fragments of an individual vision in book after book, to build, if not a War and Peace or Ulysses, at least a shelf.”

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Anthony Burgess

Non-Fiction, The Novel Now: A Student's Guide to Contemporary Fiction (1967)

“An Egyptian priest…. plays up the mystery of language to enhance his own power.”

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Anthony Burgess

Non-Fiction, A Mouthful of Air: Language and Languages, Especially English (1992)

“In a sense [Lawrence] is the patron saint of all writers who have never had an Oxford or Cambridge education who are somewhat despised by those who have.”

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Anthony Burgess livro 1985

'The Rage of D.H. Lawrence', The South Bank Show (TV), 1985
People, Joseph Conrad, D.H. Lawrence

“He walked down the side street to a wide thoroughfare of shop-windows and offices. This, he assumed, was one of the main arteries of London, a city he did not know very well. There were sodium street-lights, lights in windows. Occasional cars sped by. There was even an airline bus crammed with yawning passengers. Edwin saw himself reflected in a window full of tape-recorders.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, The Doctor is Sick (1960)

“Europeans had sometimes invited him to dinner and given him stuffed aubergines and onion soup and Nuits St Georges and what they said was good coffee.…They had evinced, in their curious French mixed with Malay (both were foreign languages, both occupied the same compartment, they were bound to get mixed), a nostalgia for France which amused him slightly, bored him much, flattered him not at all.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, The Enemy in the Blanket (1958)

“Mr Liversedge…saw the whole ridiculous Oriental susah in true proportion. Here men would murder for five dollars, here men would seek divorce because their wives sighed at the handsomeness of the film star P. Ramlee…. nodding at the lucid exposition of Mr Lim from Penang, though contemning inwardly the Pommie accent…”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Beds in the East (1959)

“…Australian English may be thought of as a kind of fossilised Cockney of the Dickensian era.”

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Anthony Burgess

Non-Fiction, A Mouthful of Air: Language and Languages, Especially English (1992)

“…And the rising sun shall rise yet higher, destroying with its flaming fire the evil will of the wicked West, but smiling warmly on the rest”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Beds in the East (1959)

“They saw themselves, you could see, as real grown-up devotchkas already, what with the old hipswing when they saw your Faithful Narrator, brothers, and padded groodies and red all ploshed on their goobers…. They viddied themselves as real sophistoes…. They had the same ideas or lack of, and the same colour hair — a like dyed strawy. Well, they would grow up real today…. No school this afterlunch, but education certain, Alex as teacher.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, A Clockwork Orange (1962)

“…1660 virtually starts a new era - an era in which the old land-owning class sinks and the new middle-class rises, an era too in which the English character seems to have become subtly changed. A sense of guilt seems to permeate all pleasure, and this has continued to the present day…. the many living monuments to Puritan rule…. the Englishman’s peculiar restraint - the coldness that repels so many Africans and Asians, an unwillingness to ‘let oneself go’.”

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Anthony Burgess

Non-Fiction, English Literature: A Survey for Students (1958, revised 1974)

“Dr Williams’s book is about a number of nineteenth-century French writers who caught syphilis and probably died of paresis. They are Baudelaire, Jules de Goncourt, Flaubert, Guy de Maupassant and Daudet. A similar book could probably be written about nineteenth-century British writers, including such unlikely victims of syphilis as John Keats and Edward Lear. People were not so frightened of the disease as we are. Few physicians saw the connection between cerebral degeneration and the primary chancre: when the secondary stage of the infection had healed, it was generally assumed that everything was over and lightning would not strike the tree again. This was Baudelaire’s belief. One could even rejoice at picking up the pox: it was not merely an inoculation; it advertised one’s virility to the world….”

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Anthony Burgess

Non-Fiction, Homage to QWERT YUIOP: Selected Journalism 1978-1985 (1986)

“Defiling their shadows, infidels, accursed of Allah, with fingernails that are foot-long daggers, with mouths agape like cauldrons full of teeth on the boil, with eyes all fire, shaitans possessed of Iblis, clanking into their wars all linked, like slaves, with iron chains. Murad Bey, the huge, the single-blowed ox-beheader, saw without too much surprise mild-looking pale men dressed in blue, holding guns, drawn up in squares six deep as though in some massed dance depictive of orchard walls. At the corners of the squares were heavy giins and gunners. There did not seem to be many horsemen. Murad said a prayer within, raised his scimitar to heaven and yelled a fierce and holy word. The word was taken up, many thousandfold, and in a kind of gloved thunder the Mamelukes threw themselves on to the infidel right and nearly broke it. But the squares healed themselves at once, and the cavalry of the faithful crashed in three avenging prongs along the fire-spitting avenues between the walls. A great gun uttered earthquake language at them from within a square, and, rearing and cursing the curses of the archangels of Islam on to the uncircumcized, they wheeled and swung towards their protective village of Embabeh. There they encountered certain of the blue-clad infidel horde on the flat roofs of the houses, coughing musket-fire at them. But then disaster sang along their lines from the rear as shell after shell crunched and the Mamelukes roared in panic and burden to the screams of their terrified mounts, to whose ears these noises were new. Their rear dissolving, their retreat cut off, most sought the only way, that of the river. They plunged in, horseless, seeking to swim across to join the inactive horde of Ibrahim, waiting for. action that could now never come. Murad Bey, with such of his horsemen as were left, yelped off inland to Gizeh.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Napoleon Symphony (1974)

“Whether the French were better colonists than the British is an academic question, but at least such Frenchmen as were planting in Malaya (Pierre Boulle, for instance, and Henri Fauconnier) were kept sane by their own culture and some of them (those two, anyway) produced memorable novels based on their Malayan experiences. The British were mostly philistines, and they left behind a heritage of philistinism. Kampung culture is dying, and a metropolitan culture of art galleries and orchestras seems unlikely to arise. What there is, and flourishing too, is a materialist consumerism that is threatened from the north by the communists and from the west by the militant Islam of the ayatollahs. Mr Butcher’s book deals with a race of people who may well be surveyed in terms of anthropological generalities. There was no room for the brilliant or the eccentric. British Malaya was created by courageous and suffering mediocrities. The building of Singapore in 1819 was a rather different affair.”

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Anthony Burgess

"White Men Sweating" - review of The British in Malaya 1880-1941: The Social History of a European Community in Colonial South-East Asia, by John G. Butcher.
Non-Fiction, Homage to QWERT YUIOP: Selected Journalism 1978-1985 (1986)

“…surely that sneered-at suburban life was more stable than this shadow life…in a country where no involvement was possible…better than the sordid dalliance that soothed me after work?”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, The Right to an Answer (1960)

“His heart beating faster, his throat drying, Nabby whispered to the driver, ‘Not so bloody fast.’
‘Tuan?’
‘All right, all right.’ One of these days he must really get down to the language. There never seemed to be the time, somehow….”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Time for a Tiger (1956)

“The scientific approach to life is not necessarily appropriate to states of visceral anguish.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Tremor of Intent (1966)

“He forgot that the Malays revere cats and that the Chinese merely relish them.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, The Enemy in the Blanket (1958)

“What you could do with is a nice strong cup of tea, sir. I’ll tell the kuki to make you one.’
‘Does it really do any good, Nabby? (That was better.) ‘I’ve tried every damn thing.’….”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Time for a Tiger (1956)

“Legrand scratched his cheek with one of Conté's lead pencils and started to Koranize: I say unto you that you have been brought low by kings who lie with houris on the fat sofas of Stamboul and by those that were once among you and came from lands of the sunset, men pale but warlike, to steal your camels and women and snatch the bread from your teeth, in no wise to raise you high among the peoples of the earth. Meanwhile the C-in-C got on with other things - gunpowder factory, street-lighting, Paris-style café, accommodation for laundresses, a balloon demonstration.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Napoleon Symphony (1974)

“From ancient drains and sewers of the language (maritime inns and brothels…), from scrawls in the catacombs…whoremasters’ chapbooks…the vocabulary of tavern brawls”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Devil of a State (1961)

““…My name…is Mahalingam…. is Sanskrit for ‘large or great or mighty generative organ’ - this, of course, having more a religious (through associations of religion and fertility) significance than an anatomical one. Though anatomically and…socially the name has not proved inept.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Devil of a State (1961)

“…a fetid cabaret with a beer-bar, two houses of ill-fame disguised as coffee-shops…”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Beds in the East (1959)

“…in the bar, he treated me and all around us to a loud recapitulation, based loosely on the visas and entry permits in his passport, of the more scandalous elements of our life together. ‘New York, dear, and that pissyarsed publisher of yours who tried to stop me going to the fistfuck party, dangerous he said, lethal, stupid sod. Toronto, that was where we had that little whatsit at the same time, remember, lovely kind of henna colour, half Indian, half French, not an ounce of bloody Anglosaxon blood remember.’ He got drunk very rapidly on undiluted Pernod. ‘The man on the Washington Post who once had it off with a ghost. At the…”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Earthly Powers (1980)

“It was the afternoon of my eighty-first birthday, and I was in bed with my catamite when Ali announced that the archbishop had come to see me.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Earthly Powers (1980)

“The window opened gently and a still Autumn night entered cat-like. Edwin smelt freedom and London autumn – decay, smoke, cold, motor oil.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, The Doctor is Sick (1960)

“It was all a matter of a Goddess – dark, hidden, deadly, horribly desirable.”

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Anthony Burgess

Fiction, Nothing Like the Sun (1964)