Sweet Are The Thoughts That Savor Of

I Had Never Known Her Before And I Had Never Loved Her So Much. The More We Know The More We Love, I Thought.

All Good Novelists Have Bad Memories. What You Remember Comes Out As Journalism; What You Forget Goes Into The Compost Of The Imagination.

The Subject Of A Novel Is Not The Plot. Who Remembers What Happened To Lucien De Rebempre In The End?

One Never Knows Enough About Characters In Real Life To Put Them Into Novels. One Gets Started And Then, Suddenly, One Can Not Remember What Toothpaste They Use; What Are Their Views On Interior Decoration, And One Is Stuck Utterly. No, Major Characters Emerge; Minor Ones May Be Photographed.

If Only It Were Possible To Love Without Injury – Fidelity Isn’t Enough: I Had Been Faithful To Anne And Yet I Had Injured Her. The Hurt Is In The Act Of Possession: We Are Too Small In Mind And Body To Possess Another Person Without Pride Or To Be Possessed Without Humiliation. In A Way I Was Glad That My Wife Had Struck Out At Me Again – I Had Forgotten Her Pain For Too Long, And This Was The Only Kind Of Recompense I Could Give Her. Unfortunately The Innocent Are Always Involved In Any Conflict. Always, Everywhere, There Is Some Voice Crying From A Tower.