Plot Is The Knowing Of Destination.

Nothing Arrives On Paper As It Started, And So Much Arrives That Never Started At All. To Write Is Always To Rave A Little-even If One Did Once Know What One Meant

The Novelist's--any Writer's--object Is To Whittle Down His Meaning To The Exactest And Finest Possible Point. What, Of Course, Isfatal Is When He Does Not Know What He Does Mean: He Has No Point To Sharpen.

Solitary And Farouche People Don't Have Relationships; They Are Quite Unrelatable. If You And I Were Capable Of Being Altogether House-trained And Made Jolly, We Should Be Nicer People, But Not Writers.

Spoilt Pleasure Is A Sad, Unseemly Thing; You Can Only Bury It.

At The Age Of Twelve I Was Finding The World Too Small: It Appeared To Me Like A Dull, Trim Back Garden, In Which Only Trivial Games Could Be Played.