"It never happened. Nothing ever happened. Even while it was happening it wasn't happening. It didn't matter. It was of no interest.".
The text of his above 2005 Nobel Prize acceptance speech, which I will admit I had never watched nor read until tonight, after I heard he had passed:
Political language, as used by politicians, does not venture into any of this territory since the majority of politicians, on the evidence available to us, are interested not in truth but in power and in the maintenance of that power. To maintain that power it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live in ignorance of the truth, even the truth of their own lives. What surrounds us therefore is a vast tapestry of lies, upon which we feed.
A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection - unless you lie - in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.
Johann Hari in the HufPost: "Pinter doesn't deserve it.".
"He absolutizes.". Defended Milosevic. etc.
And the debate goes on.