Memory Is To Love What The Saucer

Each Of Us Keeps, Battened Down Inside Himself, A Sort Of Lunatic Giant; Impossible Socially, But Full Scale; And It's The Knockings And Battering We Sometimes Hear In Each Other That Keep Our Banter From Utter Banality.

... Any Fictionis Bound To Be Transposed Autobiography.

Dogs Are A Habit, I Think.

Rudeness To Mrs. Dosely Was Like Dropping A Pat Of Butter On To A Hot Plate - It Slid And Melted Away.

The Silence Of A Shut Park Does Not Sound Like Country Silence: It Is Tense And Confined.