If The Novel Is Dying, I See

Failures To Love Are Irremediable And Irredeemable.

As Often As Not Our Whole Self...engages Itself In The Most Trivial Of Things, The Shape Of A Particular Hill, A Road In The Town In Which We Lived As Children, The Movement Of Wind In Grass. The Things We Shall Take With Us When We Die Will Nearly All Be Small Things.

The Writer - More Especially The Novelist - Who Has Not, At One Moment Or Another, Considered His Publisher Unworthy Of Him, Has Still To Be Conceived.

To Reject Censorship After Studying The Risks Involved Is Very Well. To Reject It Ex Cathedra, In The Tones Of Calvin Pronouncing A Dogma, Eyes And Mind Closed To The Possible Consequences, The Even Marginally Possible, Is To Make Things Too Comfortable For Oneself.

Novelists Who Treat Violence And Cruelty As Something To Be Exploited For Their Effect, Or To Enjoy The Pleasure Of An Evacuation, Are Carriers Of A Singularly Unpleasant Disease.