There Is, They Say, No Fool Like

No Human Endeavour Can Ever Be Wholly Good... It Must Always Have A Cost.

One Thing Should Be Put Firmly. Where People Have Commented On That Novel [the Paper Men], They Generally Criticize The Poor Academic, Rick L. Tucker, Who Is Savaged By The Author, Wilfred Barclay. I Don't Think People Have Noticed That I Have Been Far Ruder About Barclay Than I Have Been About Tucker. Tucker Is A Fool, But Barclay Is A Swine. The Author Really Gets His Come-uppance.

Maybe Half A Dozen Think They Are A Community, But, In General Terms, I Think English Writers Tend To Face Outwards, Away From Each Other, And Write In Their Own Patch, As It Were.

The World, That Understandable And Lawful World, Was Slipping Away.

Towards Midnight The Rain Ceased And The Clouds Drifted Away, So That The Sky Was Scattered Once More With The Incredible Lamps Of Stars.