The World Is Not Enough

He Was A Secret Agent, And Still Alive Thanks To His Exact Attention To The Detail Of His Profession.

Like All Harsh, Cold Men, He Was Easily Tipped Over Into Sentiment.

Above All, He Liked It That Everything Was One's Own Fault. There Was Only Oneself To Praise Or Blame. Luck Was A Servant And Not A Master. Luck Had To Be Accepted With A Shrug Or Taken Advantage Of Up To The Hilt. But It Had To Be Understood And Recognized For What It Was And Not Confused With A Faulty Appreciation Of The Odds, For, At Gambling, The Deadly Sin Is To Mistake Bad Play For Bad Luck. And Luck In All Its Moods Had To Be Loved And Not Feared

Writing About 2,000 Words In Three Hours Every Morning, 'casino Royale' Dutifully Produced Itself. I Wrote Nothing And Made No Corrections Until The Book Was Finished. If I Had Looked Back At What I Had Written The Day Before I Might Have Despaired.

Our Prisons Are Full Of People Who Think They're Napoleon..or God.