Given Two Tempers And The Time, The

Do You Know There Is Always A Barrier Between Me And Any Man Or Woman Who Does Not Like Dogs?

... In The Nineteen-thirties ... The Most Casual Reader Of Murder Mysteries Could Infallibly Detect The Villain, As Soon As There Entered A Character Who Had Recently Washed His Neck And Did Not Commit Mayhem On The English Language.

... The Novel, As A Living Force, If Not As A Work Of Art, Owes An Incalculable Debt To What We Call, Mistakenly, The New Psychology, To Freud, In His Earlier Interpretations, And More Truly, I Think, To Jung.

Like All Born Politicians, Their Eye Was For The Main Chance Rather Than For The Argument, And They Found It Easier To Forswear A Conviction Than To Forego A Comfort.

For Me, The Novel Is Experience Illumined By Imagination.