I'm Not A Critic So Much Of

It Wasn't Until I Was 37 That I Grasped The Great Truth That You've Got To Write Your Own Books And Nobody Else's, And Then Everything Followed From There.

To Be In A World Which Is A Hell, To Be Of That World And Neither To Believe In Or Guess At Anything But That World Is Not Merely Hell But The Only Possible Damnation: The Act Of A Man Damning Himself. It May Be

I Do Think That Art That Doesn't Communicate Is Useless.

He Doesn't Mind If He Dies... Indeed, He Would Like To Die; But Yet He Fears To Fall. He Would Welcome A Long Sleep; But Not At The Price Of Falling To It.

Philosophy And Religion-what Are They When The Wind Blows And The Water Gets Up In Lumps?