And, My Brothers, It Was Real Satisfaction

But Where I Itty Now, O My Brothers, Is All On My Oddy Knocky, Where You Cannot Go. Tomorrow Is All Like Sweet Flowers And The Turning Vonny Earth And The Stars And The Old Luna Up There. ... And All That Cal.

If You Expect The Worst From A Person, You Can't Ever Be Disappointed... The Pessimist Takes A Sort Of Gloomy Pleasure In Observing The Depths To Which Human Behaviour Can Sink. The More Sin He Sees, The More His Belief In Original Sin Is Confirmed. Everyone Likes To Have His Deepest Convictions Confirmed; That Is One Of The Most Abiding Of Human Satisfaction.

It Had Been A Wonderful Evening And What I Needed Now, To Give It The Perfect Ending, Was A Little Of The Ludwig Van.

Novelists Are Perhaps The Last People In The World To Be Entrusted With Opinions. The Nature Of A Novel Is That It Has No Opinions, Only The Dialectic Of Contrary Views, Some Of Which, All Of Which, May Be Untenable And Even Silly. A Novelist Should Not Be Too Intelligent Either, Although He May Be Permitted To Be An Intellectual.

If I Had Died It Would Have Been Even Better For You Political Bratchnies, Would It Not, Pretending And Treacherous Droogs As You Are.' But All That Came Out Was Er Er Er.