It Is As Inhuman To

But What I Do I Do Because I Like To Do.

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.

All Human Life Is Here, But The Holy Ghost Seems To Be Somewhere Else.

Great Music, It Said, And Great Poetry Would Like Quieten Modern Youth Down And Make Modern Youth More Civilized. Civilized My Syphilised Yarbles.

Well, Well, Well, Well. If It Isn't Fat, Stinking Billygoat Billy-boy In Poison. How Art Thou, Thou Globby Bottle Of Cheap, Stinking Chip-oil? Come And Get One In The Yarbles, If You Have Any Yarbles, You Eunuch Jelly Thou.