Nice Things Are Nicer Than Nasty Ones.

When I Find Someone I Respect Writing About An Edgy, Nervous Wine That Dithered In The Glass, I Cringe. When I Hear Someone I Don't Respect Talking About An Austere, Unforgiving Wine, I Turn A Bit Austere And Unforgiving Myself. When I Come Across Stuff Like That And Remember About The Figs And Bananas, I Want To Snigger Uneasily. You Can Call A Wine Red, And Dry, And Strong, And Pleasant. After That, Watch Out.

I Want A Dish To Taste Good, Rather Than To Have Been Seethed In Pig's Milk And Served Wrapped In A Rhubarb Leaf With Grated Thistle Root.

Self Criticism Must Be My Guide To Action, And The First Rule For Its Employment Is That In Itself It Is Not A Virtue, Only A Procedure.

When Starting To Think About Any Novel, Part Of The Motive Is: I'm Going To Show Them, This Time.

A Blonde Girl Wearing A Man's Shirt But In All Other Visible Respects Unmanly To The Point Of Outright Effeminacy.