What's It Going To Be Then, Eh?

But, Brothers, This Biting Of Their Toe-nails Over What Is The Cause Of Badness Is What Turns Me Into A Fine Laughing Malchick. They Don't Go Into What Is The Cause Of Goodness, So Why Of The Other Shop?

If I Had Died It Would Have Been Even Better For You Political Bratchnies, Would It Not, Pretending And Treacherous Droogs As You Are.' But All That Came Out Was Er Er Er.

It Seems Priggish Or Pollyannaish To Deny That My Intention In Writing The Work Was To Titillate The Nastier Propensities Of My Readers. My Own Healthy Inheritance Of Original Sin Comes Out In The Book And I Enjoyed Raping And Ripping By Proxy. It Is The Novelist’s Innate Cowardice That Makes Him Depute To Imaginary Personalities The Sins That He Is Too Cautious To Commit For Himself.

Blockbusting Fiction Is Bought As Furniture. Unread, It Maintains Its Value. Read, It Looks Like Money Wasted. Cunningly, Americans Know That Books Contain A Person, And They Want The Person, Not The Book.

I Wrote Much Because I Was Paid Little. I Had No Great Desire To Leave A Literary Name Behind Me.