Writers Seem To Me To Be People

At The Time It Seemed Like A Natural Development Of My Interest In What Was Going On Around Me In Society.

I Think Some People Wished I'd Kept Myself Out Of The Book. But I Kind Of Insist On It Because I Want The Reader To Share My Engagement With The Material, If You Like, Not Pretend That I'm Doing It Completely Intellectually.

I'm Full Of Restlessness. Not Lonely, Exactly - My Head Is Racing With Ideas. But It Is That Old Treacherous Feeling That Real Life Is Happening Somewhere Else, And I'm Left Out.

People Demand A Lot Of The Justice System And They Demand Things That It Can't Deliver.

On Melbourne Summer Mornings The Green Trams Go Rolling In Stately Progress Down Tunnels Thick With Leaves: The Bright Air Carries Along The Avenue Their Patient Chime, The Chattering Of Their Wheels.