Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves.

I Was Always On My Oddy Knocky.

Without Class Differences, England Would Cease To Be The Living Theatre It Is.

Reviewers Do Not Read Books With Much Care . . . Their Profession Is More Given To Stupidity And Malice And Literary Ignorance Even Than The Profession Of Novelist.

Do They Merit Vitriol, Even A Drop Of It? Yes, Because They Corrupt The Young, Persuading Them That The Mature World, Which Produced Beethoven And Schweitzer, Sets An Even Higher Value On The Transient Anodynes Of Youth Than Does Youth Itself.... They Are The Hollow Men. They Are Electronic Lice.

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.