We're Not Savages. We're English.

Life Should Serve Up Its Feast Of Experience In A Series Of Courses.

Every Novel Is A Biography. Well, Then, This Is A Novel [the Paper Men] Which Is A Biography That Is Pretending To Be An Autobiography. That's What You Could Say About It.

They Looked At Each Other, Baffled, In Love And Hate.

Utopias Are Presented For Our Inspection As A Critique Of The Human State. If They Are To Be Treated As Anything But Trivial Exercises Of The Imagination. I Suggest There Is A Simple Test We Can Apply. We Must Forget The Whole Paraphernalia Of Social Description, Demonstration, Expostulation, Approbation, Condemnation. We Have To Say To Ourselves, How Would I Myself Live In This Proposed Society? How Long Would It Be Before I Went Stark Staring Mad?

To Be In A World Which Is A Hell, To Be Of That World And Neither To Believe In Or Guess At Anything But That World Is Not Merely Hell But The Only Possible Damnation: The Act Of A Man Damning Himself. It May Be