Parents. . . Are Sometimes A Bit

Writing Is A Combination Of Intangible Creative Fantasy And Appallingly Hard Work.

On The Stage . . . Masks Are Assumed With Some Regard To Procedure; In Everyday Life, The Participants Act Their Parts Without Consideration Either For Suitability Of Scene Or For The Words Spoken By The Rest Of The Cast: The Result Is A General Tendency For Things To Be Brought To The Level Of Farce Even When The Theme Is Serious Enough.

The Whole Idea Of Interviews Is In Itself Absurd - One Cannot Answer Deep Questions About What One's Life Was Like - One Writes Novels About It.

Dinner At The Huntercombes' Possessed Only Two Dramatic Features - The Wine Was A Farce And The Food A Tragedy.

Slowly, But Very Deliberately, The Brooding Edifice Of Seduction, Creaking And Incongruous, Came Into Being, A Vast Heath Robinson Mechanism, Dually Controlled By Them And Lumbering Gloomily Down Vistas Of Triteness. With A Sort Of Heavy-fisted Dexterity The Mutually Adapted Emotions Of Each Of Them Became Synchronized, Until The Unavoidable Anti-climax Was At Hand.