London, How Could One Ever Be Tired

Nothing Fails Like Failure

What Really Annoys Me Are The Ones Who Write To Say, I Am Doing Your Book For My Final Examinations And Could You Please Tell Me What The Meaning Of It Is. I Find It Just So Staggering--that You're Supposed To Explain The Meaning Of Your Book To Some Total Stranger! If I Knew What The Meanings Of My Books Were, I Wouldn't Have Bothered To Write Them.

I Confidently Predict The Collapse Of Capitalism And The Beginning Of History. Something Will Go Wrong In The Machinery That Converts Money Into Money, The Banking System Will Collapse Totally, And We Will Be Left Having To Barter To Stay Alive. Those Who Can Dig In Their Garden Will Have A Better Chance Than The Rest. I'll Be All Right; I've Got A Few Veg.

The Middle Years, Caught Between Children And Parents, Free Of Neither: The Past Stretches Back Too Densely, It Is Too Thickly Populated, The Future Has Not Yet Thinned Out.

London, How Could One Ever Be Tired Of It?