It's Death, That's What I'm

It's Part Of A Writer's Profession, As It's Part Of A Spy's Profession, To Prey On The Community To Which He's Attached, To Take Away Information - Often In Secret - And To Translate That Into Intelligence For His Masters, Whether It's His Readership Or His Spy Masters. And I Think That Both Professions Are Perhaps Rather Lonely.

I Don't Think It Is Given To Any Of Us To Be Impertinent To Great Religions With Impunity.

After All, If You Make Your Enemy Look Like A Fool, You Lose The Justification For Engaging Him.

A Dead Man Is The Worst Enemy Alive, I Thought. You Can't Alter His Power Over You. You Can't Alter What You Love Or Owe. And It's Too Late To Ask Him For His Absolution. He Has Beaten You All Ways.

Out Of Date, Perhaps, But Who Wasn't These Days? Out Of Date, But Loyal To His Own Time. At A Certain Moment, After All, Every Man Chooses: Will He Go Forward, Will He Go Back? There Was Nothing Dishounorable In Not Being Blown About By Every Little Modern Wind. Better To Have Worth, To Entrench, To Be An Oak Of One's Own Generation.