It Is As Inhuman To

This Is Great Art, We've Been Told This By The Great Pundits Of Our Age. And In Consequence Why Should We Bother To Learn? There's Nothing More Delightful Than To Be Told, 'you Don't Have To Learn, My Boy. There's Nothing In It. Modern Art? There's Nothing In It.

Immortality Makes Sense Only When The Individual Soul Can Be Thought Of As Merging Into A Great Collective Mush Of Sainthood. If We Take Anything With Us Into The Next World, It Is Not What Survives In The Memories Of Our Relicts.

The Writer's Life Seethes Within But Not Without.

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.

In Two Thousand Years All Our Generals And Politicians May Be Forgotten, But Einstein And Madame Curie And Bernard Shaw And Stravinsky Will Keep The Memory Of Our Age Alive.