The Land Of Embarrassment And Breakfast.

In Britain I'm Sometimes Regarded As A Suspiciously Europeanized Writer, Who Has This Rather Dubious French Influence.

But I’ve Been Turning Over In My Mind The Question Of Nostalgia, And Whether I Suffer From It. I Certainly Don’t Get Soggy At The Memory Of Some Childhood Knickknack; Nor Do I Want To Deceive Myself Sentimentally About Something That Wasn’t Even True At The Time—love Of The Old School, And So On. But If Nostalgia Means The Powerful Recollection Of Strong Emotions—and A Regret That Such Feelings Are No Longer Present In Our Lives—then I Plead Guilty.

Loving Humanity Means As Much, And As Little, As Loving Raindrops, Or Loving The Milky Way. You Say That You Love Humanity? Are You Sure You Aren’t Treating Yourself To Easy Self-congratulation, Seeking Approval, Making Certain You’re On The Right Side?

The More You Learn, The Less You Fear. "learn" Not In The Sense Of Academic Study, But In The Practical Understanding Of Life.

I'm Interested In Such Things As The Difference Between How We Perceive The World And What The World Turns Out To Be. The Difference Is Between The Stories We Tell Others And The Stories We Tell Ourselves. There Is A Wonderful Russian Saying, Which I Use As The Epigraph Of One Of My Novels, Which Goes, He Lies Like An Eyewitness. Which Is Very Sly, Clever And True.