Books Are Where Things Are Explained To

He Feared Me As Many Men Fear Women: Because Their Mistresses (or Their Wives) Understand Them. They Are Scarcely Adult, Some Men: They Wish Women To Understand Them, And To That End They Tell Them All Their Secrets; And Then, When They Are Properly Understood, They Hate Their Women For Understanding Them.

The Companionship Of Dead Writers Is A Wonderful Form Of Live Friendship.

Paris Is Certainly One Of The Most Boastful Of Cities, And You Could Argue That It Has Had A Lot To Boast About: At Various Times The European Centre Of Power, Of Civilisation, Of The Arts, And (self-advertisingly, At Least) Of Love.

You Can't Have A Novel Without Real, Believable People, And Once You Get Into Either Too Theoretical A Novel Or Too Philosophical A Novel, You Get Into The Dangers That The French Novel Has Discovered In The Past 50 Or 60 Years. And You Get Into A Sort Of Aridity. No, You Have To Have Real, Identifiable People To Whom The Reader Reacts In A Way As If They Were Real People.

When You’re Young You Prefer The Vulgar Months, The Fullness Of The Seasons. As You Grow Older You Learn To Like The In-between Times, The Months That Can’t Make Up Their Minds. Perhaps It’s A Way Of Admitting That Things Can’t Ever Bear The Same Certainty Again.