Nobody Knew How To Be What They

Is Man A Savage At Heart, Skinned O'er With Fragile Manners? Or Is Savagery But A Faint Taint In The Natural Man's Gentility, Which Erupts Now And Again Like Pimples On An Angel's Arse?

Yet Everyone Begins In The Same Place; How Is It That Most Go Along Without Difficulty But A Few Lose Their Way?

If You Are A Novelist Of A Certain Type Of Termperament, Then What You Really Want To Do Is Re-invent The World. God Wasn't Too Bad A Novelist Except He Was A Realist.

Tis E'er The Lot Of The Innocent In The World, To Fly To The Wolf For Succor From The Lion.

One Of The Things I Miss About Teaching Is That Students Would Tell Me What I Ought To Read. One Of My Students, Back In The 1960s, Put Me Onto Borges, And I Remember Another Mentioning Flann O'brien's At Swim Two-birds In The Same Way.