So Heedless Have We Become Of Our

As For Critical Writing About Modernism, Its Moments Of Lucidity Are But Fulgurations Illuminating The Dark And Incomprehensible Landscape Of Its Subject's Unabashed Difficulty.

For Myself, I Haven't Been Content To Carry On Producing Books That Merely Strain Against The Conventions - As I've Grown Older, And Realised That There Aren't That Many Books Left For Me To Write, So I've Become Determined That They Should Be The Fictive Equivalent Of Ripping The Damn Corset Off Altogether And Chucking It On The Fire.

Mother Sighed With Exasperation. "look, There Aren't Any "people In Charge Of Death". When You Die You Move To Another Part Of London, That's All There Is To It. Period.

If The Seventies Were Bulbous, And The Eighties Sharp, The Nineties Were Nothing But Bogus.

A Creative Life Cannot Be Sustained By Approval, Any More Than It Can Be Destroyed By Criticism.