The One Way To Get Thin Is

He [george Orwell] Would Not Blow His Nose Without Moralising On Conditions In The Handkerchief Industry.

In The Dream Of Approaching Forty I Saw Myself As About To Die And Realized That I Was No Longer Myself, But A Creature Inhabited Entirely By Parasites, As A Caterpillar Is Occupied By The Grubs Of The Ichneumon Fly. Gin, Whisky, Sloth, Fear, Guilt, Tobacco, Had Made Themselves My Inquilines; Alcohol Sloshed About Within, While Tendrils Of Melon And Vine Grew Out Of Ears And Nostrils; My Mind Was A Worn Gramophone Record, My True Self Was Such A Ruin As To Seem Non-existent, And All This Had Happened In The Last Three Years.

There Is No Pain Equal To That Which Two Lovers Can Inflict On One Another.

The Only Way For Writers To Meet Is To Share A Quick Peek Over A Common Lamp-post.

Flaubert Spoke True: To Succeed A Great Artist Must Have Both Character And Fanaticism And Few In This Country Are Willing To Pay The Price. Our Writers Have Either No Personality And Therefore No Style Or A False Personality And Therefore A Bad Style; They Mistake Prejudice For Energy And Accept The Sensation Of Material Well-being As A System Of Thought.