There's No Tiling Moral About Beauty.

Certainly The People Who Are Close To Me Are Happier. They Feel Freer.

The Truth Isn't Always Beauty, But The Hunger For It Is.

I Don't Understand Writers Who Feel They Shouldn't Have To Do Any Of The Ordinary Things Of Life, Because I Think That This Is Necessary: One Has To Keep In Touch With That... The Ordinary Action Of Taking A Dress Down To The Dry Cleaner's Or Spraying Some Plants Infected With Greenfly Is A Very Sane And Good Thing To Do. It Brings One Back, So To Speak. It Also Brings The World Back.

It's Easier For The Former Masters To Put Aside The Masks That Hid Their Humanity Than For The Former Slaves To Recognise The Faces Underneath. Or To Trust That This Is Not A New Mask These Are Wearing.

The Solitude Of Writing Is Also Quite Frightening. It's Quite Close To Madness, One Just Disappears For A Day And Loses Touch.