You'll Get Back To Where You Came

I'm Not A Critic So Much Of My Own Writing. People Must Make Up Their Own Minds Over That.

There Were No Words, And No Movements But The Tearing Of Teeth And Claws.

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?

I Will Tell You What Man Is. He Is A Freak, An Ejected Foetus Robbed Of His Natural Development, Thrown Out Into The World With A Naked Covering Of Parchment, With Too Little Room For His Teeth And A Soft Bulging Skull Like A Bubble. But Nature Stirs A Pudding There.

One Thing Should Be Put Firmly. Where People Have Commented On That Novel [the Paper Men], They Generally Criticize The Poor Academic, Rick L. Tucker, Who Is Savaged By The Author, Wilfred Barclay. I Don't Think People Have Noticed That I Have Been Far Ruder About Barclay Than I Have Been About Tucker. Tucker Is A Fool, But Barclay Is A Swine. The Author Really Gets His Come-uppance.