You Can't Argue With A Raging Want.

Writing Was A Chimney For My Blazing Ambitions.

To Grow Old Is To Have Taken Away, One By One, All Gifts Of Life, The Food And Wine, The Music And The Company. ... The Gods Unloose, One By One, The Mortal Fingers That Cling To The Edge Of The Table.

No One Asks Public Men To Be Strictly Moral, But They Must Seem To Be Well-behaved.

The Critic's Hankering To Be Law-giver Rather Than Servant Of Literature Is Irrepressible.

If We Are To Survive On This Planet, There Must Be Compromises.