All Novels Are Experimental.

One Goes On Writing Partly Because It Is The Only Available Way Of Earning A Living. It Is A Hard Way And Highly Competitive. My Heart Drops Into My Bowels When I Enter A Bookshop And See How Fierce The Competition Is...there Is Also A Privier Reason For Pushing On, And That Is The Hopeless Hope That Someday That Intractable Enemy Language Will Yield To The Struggle To Control It... Mastery Never Comes, And One Serves A Lifelong Apprenticeship. The Writer Cannot Retire From The Battle; He Dies Fighting.

It Is As Inhuman To Be Totally Good As It Is To Be Totally Evil.

I Conclude That There Is As Much Sense In Nonsense As There Is Nonsense In Sense.

The Aura Of The Theocratic Death Penalty For Adultery Still Clings To America, Even Outside New England, And Multiple Divorce, Which Looks To The European Like Serial Polygamy, Is The Moral Solution To The Problem Of The Itch. Love Comes Into It Too, Of Course, But In Europe We Tend To See Marital Love As An Eternity Which Encompasses Hate And Also Indifference: When We Promise To Love We Really Mean That We Promise To Honor A Contract. Americans, Seeming To Take Marriage With Not Enough Seriousness, Are Really Taking Love And Sex With Too Much.

We Are Supposed To Be The Children Of Seth; But Seth Is Too Much Of An Effete Nonentity To Deserve Ancestral Regard. No, We Are The Sons Of Cain, And With Violence Can Be Associated The Attacks On Sound, Stone, Wood And Metal That Produced Civilization.