Socrates Called Himself A Midwife Of Ideas.

The Only Reason For Being Young Is To Outgrow It.

A Bottle Of Wine Begs To Be Shared; I Have Never Met A Miserly Wine Lover. The Social Emotions It Generates Are Equidistant From The Philatelist's Solitary Gloating And The Football Fan's Gregarious Hysteria.

If Food Is The Body Of Good Living, Wine Is Its Soul.

Seriously, I Do Not Know What To Say Of This Book [ Absalom, Absalom!] Except That It Seem To Point To The Final Blowup Of What Was Once A Remarkable, If Minor, Talent… This Is A Penny Dreadful Tricked Up In Fancy Language And Given A Specious Depth By The Expert Manipulation Of A Series Of Eccentric Technical Tricks. The Characters Have No Magnitude And No Meaning Because They Have No More Reality Than A Mince-pie Nightmare.

When You Reread A Classic, You Do Not See More In The Book Than You Did Before; You See More In You Than There Was Before.