Art Is Amoral, Whether We Accept This

...being Alone With Him Was Like Being In A Room Which Someone Had Just Violently Left

Everything We Do Is Tinged With The Knowledge That This May Be The Last Time That We Will Do This, And That Makes What We're Doing Incredibly Sweet.

Happiness Was Different In Childhood. It Was So Much Then A Matter Simply Of Accumulation, Of Taking Things - New Experiences, New Emotions - And Applying Them Like So Many Polished Tiles To What Would Someday Be The Marvellously Finished Pavilion Of The Self.

That's One Of The Many Things I Hate About Life, That It's A Hideously Cliched Business.

If They Give Me The Bloody Prize, Why Can't They Say Nice Things About Me?