Nothing Dates Like Hate And In Literature

Longevity Is The Revenge Of Talent Upon Genius.

When Even Despair Ceases To Serve Any Creative Purpose, Then Surely We Are Justified In Suicide.

In The Dream Of Approaching Forty I Saw Myself As About To Die And Realized That I Was No Longer Myself, But A Creature Inhabited Entirely By Parasites, As A Caterpillar Is Occupied By The Grubs Of The Ichneumon Fly. Gin, Whisky, Sloth, Fear, Guilt, Tobacco, Had Made Themselves My Inquilines; Alcohol Sloshed About Within, While Tendrils Of Melon And Vine Grew Out Of Ears And Nostrils; My Mind Was A Worn Gramophone Record, My True Self Was Such A Ruin As To Seem Non-existent, And All This Had Happened In The Last Three Years.

Industrial Society Seems Likely To Be Entering A Period Of Severe Stress, Due In Part To Problems Of Human Behavior And In Part To Economic And Environmental Problems

An Author Arrives At A Good Style When His Language Performs What Is Required Of It Without Shyness.