Eschew All Those Beastly Adjectives.

I Am Suspicious Of Both Facility And Speed.

When You're Writing A Book, It's Rather Like Going On A Very Long Walk, Across Valleys And Mountains And Things [...] The Highest Mountain On The Walk Is Obviously The End Of The Book, Because It's Got To Be The Best View Of All, When Everything Comes Together And You Can Look Back And See That Everything You've Done All Ties Up. But It's A Very, Very Long, Slow Process.

A Little Nonsense Now And Then Is Relished By The Wisest Men.

Now That I Am Alone, I Don't Have To Hide It; I Don't Have To Hide Anything Any Longer. I Can Let My Face Go Because No One Can See Me; Because There's Twenty-one Thousand Feet Between Me And Them... No, I Don't Have To Press My Teeth Together Or Tighten The Muscles Of My Jaw.

I Was Already Beginning To Realize That The Only Way To Conduct Oneself In A Situation Where Bombs Rained Down And Bullets Whizzed Past, Was To Accept The Dangers And All The Consequences As Calmly As Possible. Fretting And Sweating About It All Was Not Going To Help.