They Accepted The Pleasures Of Morning, The

I Believe Man Suffers From An Appalling Ignorance Of His Own Nature. I Produce My Own View In The Belief That It May Be Something Like The Truth.

Put Simply The Novel Stands Between Us And The Hardening Concept Of Statistical Man. There Is No Other Medium In Which We Can Live For So Long And So Intimately With A Character. That Is The Service A Novel Renders.

Then You Have People Coming Up Like Malcolm Bradbury, A Relatively Young Writer Who Deals With The Academic Scene And Deals With It, I Think, Brilliantly.

As Far As The Novel Is Concerned In My Own Country, I Think It's In A Pretty Healthy State.

Couldn't A Fire Outrun A Galloping Horse?