The Conch Exploded Into A Thousand White

Percival Was Mouse-coloured And Had Not Been Very Attractive Even To His Mother.

Are We Savages Or What?

Put Simply The Novel Stands Between Us And The Hardening Concept Of Statistical Man. There Is No Other Medium In Which We Can Live For So Long And So Intimately With A Character. That Is The Service A Novel Renders.

One's Intelligence May March About And About A Problem, But The Solution Does Not Come Gradually Into View. One Moment It Is Not. The Next It Is There.

He Found Himself Understanding The Wearisomeness Of This Life,where Every Path Was An Improvisation And A Considerable Part Of One's Waking Life Was Spent Watching One's Feet.