Every Dogma Has Its Day.

Novelists Are Perhaps The Last People In The World To Be Entrusted With Opinions. The Nature Of A Novel Is That It Has No Opinions, Only The Dialectic Of Contrary Views, Some Of Which, All Of Which, May Be Untenable And Even Silly. A Novelist Should Not Be Too Intelligent Either, Although He May Be Permitted To Be An Intellectual.

I Chart A Little First-list Of Names, Rough Synopsis Of Chapters, And So On. But One Daren't Overplan; So Many Things Are Generated By The Sheer Act Of Writing.

It Had Been A Wonderful Evening And What I Needed Now, To Give It The Perfect Ending, Was A Little Of The Ludwig Van.

A Character, To Be Acceptable As More Than A Chess Piece, Has To Be Ignorant Of The Future, Unsure About The Past, And Not At All Sure Of What He's Supposed To Be Doing.

But Don't Think That It's A System Or A Culture Or A State Or A Person That Does The Letting Down. It's Our Expectations That Let Us Down. It Begins In The Warmth Of The Womb And The Discovery That It's Cold Outside. But It's Not The Cold's Fault That It's Cold.