How Would I Myself Live

We're Not Savages. We're English.

Only One Novel Is A Novel: That Is A Successful Novel.

I Play The Piano Passionately And Inaccurately. Indeed, I Worked Out The Other Day That Of My Seventy-five Years; I Have Spent At Least One Year Sitting On A Piano Stool.

I'm Not A Critic So Much Of My Own Writing. People Must Make Up Their Own Minds Over That.

Together, Joined In Effort By The Burden, They Staggered Up The Last Steep Of The Mountain. Together, They Chanted One! Two! Three! And Crashed The Log On To The Great Pile. Then They Stepped Back, Laughing With Triumphant Pleasure.