People Don't Help Much.

Couldn't A Fire Outrun A Galloping Horse?

As Far As The Novel Is Concerned In My Own Country, I Think It's In A Pretty Healthy State.

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.

The Man Who Tells The Tale If He Has A Tale Worth Telling Will Know Exactly What He Is About And This Business Of The Artist As A Sort Of Starry-eyed Inspired Creature, Dancing Along, With His Feet Two Or Three Feet Above The Surface Of The Earth, Not Really Knowing What Sort Of Prints He's Leaving Behind Him, Is Nothing Like The Truth.

If Faces Were Different When Lit From Above Or Below -- What Was A Face? What Was Anything?