I Cannot Live With Someone

I Shall Never Write An Autobiography, I'm Much Too Jealous Of My Privacy For That.

The Country Of The Tourist Pamphlet Always Is Another Country, An Embarrassing Abstraction Of The Desirable That, Thank God, Does Not Exist On This Planet, Where There Are Always Ants And Bad Smells And Empty Coca-cola Bottles To Keep The Grubby Finger-print Of Reality Upon The Beautiful.

Keenness Of Hearing Revives When One Is Alone.

Literature Is One Of The Few Areas Left Where Black And White Feel Some Identity Of Purpose; We All Struggle Under Censorship.

Where Do Whites Fit In The New Africa? Nowhere, I'm Inclined To Sayand I Do Believe That It Is True That Even The Gentlest And Most Westernised Africans Would Like The Emotional Idea Of The Continent Entirely Without The Complication Of The Presence Of The White Man For A Generation Or Two. But Nowhere, As An Answer For Us Whites, Is In The Same Category As Remarks Like What's The Use Of Living? In The Face Of The Threat Of Atomic Radiation. We Are Living; We Are In Africa.