A Man Kept His Character Even When

She Had Lost All Our Memories For Ever, And It Was As Though By Dying She Had Robbed Me Of Part Of Myself. I Was Losing My Individuality. It Was The First Stage Of My Own Death, The Memories Dropping Off Like Gangrened Limbs.

All Good Novelists Have Bad Memories. What You Remember Comes Out As Journalism; What You Forget Goes Into The Compost Of The Imagination.

Despair Is The Price One Pays For Setting Himself An Impossible Aim.

As Long As Nothing Happens Anything Is Possible.

A Petty Reason Perhaps Why Novelists More And More Try To Keep A Distance From Journalists Is That Novelists Are Trying To Write The Truth And Journalists Are Trying To Write Fiction.