I've Never Seen The Point Of The

Our Father The Novelist; My Husband The Poet. He Belongs To The Ages - Just Don't Catch Him At Breakfast. Artists, Celebrated For Their Humanity, They Turn Out To Be Scarcely Human At All.

All The Effort Went Into Getting There And Then I Had Nothing Left. I Thought I'd Got Somewhere, Then I Found I Had To Go On.

The Thing I Think About Is That Once You've Done It, You Then Start To Think About What You're Going To Do Next. It's Much Easier To Follow Something That's Not Been As Successful As This.

Kafka Could Never Have Written As He Did Had He Lived In A House. His Writing Is That Of Someone Whose Whole Life Was Spent In Apartments, With Lifts, Stairwells, Muffled Voices Behind Closed Doors, And Sounds Through Walls. Put Him In A Nice Detached Villa And He'd Never Have Written A Word.

I Have Never Understood Disliking For War. It Panders To Instincts Already Catered For Within The Scope Of Any Respectable Domestic Establishment.