Life Is To Be Used, Not Just

Why Won't They Let A Year Die Without Bringing In A New One On The Instant, Can't They Use Birth Control On Time? I Want An Interregnum. The Stupid Years Patter On With Unrelenting Feet, Never Stopping - Rising To Little Monotonous Peaks In Our Imaginations At Festivals Like New Year's And Easter And Christmas - But, Goodness, Why Need They Do It?

The World's Becoming A Museum Of Socialist Failures.

In Certain Savage Tribes In New Guinea, They Put The Old People Up In The Trees And Shake Them Once A Year In The Spring; If They Don't Fall Out They Let Them Live Another Year.

Life Is To Be Used, Not Just Held In The Hand Like A Box Of Bonbons That Nobody Eats.

The Only Excuse For A Novelist, Aside From The Entertainment And Vicarious Living His Books Give The People Who Read Them, Is As A Sort Of Second-class Historian Of The Age He Lives In. The "reality" He Missed By Writing About Imaginary People, He Gains By Being Able To Build A Reality More Nearly Out Of His Own Factual Experience Than A Plain Historian Or Biographer Can.