Florence And Milan Had Given

I Didn't Cry Much After I Was 35, But Staggered Stony-faced Into Middle Age, A Handkerchief Still In My Bag Just In Case.

And If A Diversion Is Needed, Why Not Arrest A General? Arthur Dillon Is A Friend Of Eminent Deputies, A Contender For The Post Of Commander-in-chief Of The Northern Front; He Has Proved Himself At Valmy And In A Halfdozen Actions Since. In The National Assembly He Was A Liberal; Now He Is A Republican. Isn't It Then Logical That He Should Be Thrown Into Gaol, July 1, On Suspicion Of Passing Military Secrets To The Enemy?

When You Have Committed Enough Words To Paper, You Feel You Have A Spine Stiff Enough To Stand Up In The Wind. But When You Stop Writing, You Find That's All You Are - A Spine, A Row Of Rattling Vertebrae, Dried Out Like An Old Quill Pen.

My First Career Ambitions Involved Turning Into A Boy; I Intended To Be Either A Railway Guard Or A Knight Errant.

Fiction Isn't Made By Scraping The Bones Of Topicality For The Last Shreds And Sinews, To Be Processed Into Mechanically Recovered Prose. Like Journalism, It Deals In Ideas As Well As Facts, But Also In Metaphors, Symbols And Myths.