Certain Books Come To Meet Me, As

Characters Should On The Whole, Be Under Rather Than Over Articulate. What They Intend To Say Should Be More Evident, More Striking (because Of Its Greater Inner Importance To The Plot) Than What They Arrive At Saying.

As A Novelist, I Cannot Occupy Myself With "characters," Or At Any Rate Central Ones, Who Lack Panache, In One Or Another Sense, Who Would Be Incapable Of A Major Action Or A Major Passion, Or Who Have Not A Touch Of The Ambiguity, The Ultimate Unaccountability, The Enlarging Mistiness Of Persons "in History." History, As More Austerely I Now Know It, Is Not Romantic. But I Am.

Experience Isn't Interesting Until It Begins To Repeat Itself. In Fact, Till It Does That, It Hardly Is Experience.

To The Sun Rome Owes Its Underlying Glow, And Its Air Called Golden - To Me, More The Yellow Of White Wine; Like Wine It Raises Agreeability To Poetry.

Raids Are Slightly Constipating.