If We Meet An Honest And Intelligent

The Novel Is A Prose Narrative Of Some Length That Has Something Wrong With It.

The People Who Live In A Golden Age Usually Go Around Complaining How Yellow Everything Looks.

To Americans, English Manners Are Far More Frightening Than None At All.

We Read Our Mail And Counted Up Our Missions In Bombers Named For Girls, We Burned The Cities We Had Learned About In School Till Our Lives Wore Out; Our Bodies Lay Among The People We Had Killed And Never Seen. When We Lasted Long Enough They Gave Us Medals; When We Died They Said, "our Casualties Were Low." They Said, "here Are The Maps"; We Burned The Cities.

One Of The Most Puzzling Things About A Novel Is That "the Way It Really Was" Half The Time Is, And Half The Time Isn't, The Way It Ought To Be In The Novel.