So I Was Smacked Up On The

In Truth, Even If They Have An Imperfect Insight Into Their Own Methods, I Still Slightly Mistrust Writers Of Fiction Who Are Assured Literary Critics; It Makes Me Suspect That They Favour The Word Over The World It Should Describe. Such Scribes Fall Victim Too Easily To The Solecism Of Equating Style With Morality.

Well, I Wanted To Be A Philosopher, Which Is The Idlest Occupation In The World. I Wanted To Be Involved In Abstract Thought, But Because Of Various Problems With The Authorities I Wasn't Able To Pull That One Off. A Lifetime Of Idleness In Academia Would Have Really Suited Me. So I Was Thrown Out, As It Were. Other Than That, There Seemed No Possible Idle Occupations, So Writing . . . Although Writing Isn't Exactly Idleness. There's An Enormous Tension Between Indolence And Languor.

Whatever Respect Photography May Once Have Deserved Is Now Superfluous In View Of Its Own Superfluity.

Lust Was A Positive High-tension Cable, Plugged Into My Core, Activating A Near-epileptic Seizure Of Conviction That This Was The One Thing I Had To Do In Life.

When George Vi - Displaying A Flair For Timing That Was Utterly Absent In His Lifetime - Upped And Died, The Way Was Clear For Her To Inhabit Her Logical Position As The Eminence Cerise, The Bolster Behind The Throne.