Like A Volvo, Bjorn Borg

Here Was My First Lesson On The Resolutely Maintained Untidiness And Ill-health Of The English Upper Orders. In Baggy Evening Dress And Old Before Their Time, They Displayed Gapped And Tangled Teeth In Loosely Open Mouths. Gently Shedding Dandruff, They Lurched Across The Lawn. When They Stood At The Bar They Looked Like Lee Trevino Putting.

I've Got Life For A Subject Because As Life Starts To Drain Away, You Start Seeing Very Clearly What Life Is, For The First Time.

I Work On The Assumption, Or Let It Be The Fear, That The Reader Will Stop Reading If I Stop Being Interesting.

The Provincial Intellectual Is Doomed To Arguing At Low Level... There Is Still No Australian Literary World, Not In Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide. It Is Some Consolation To Realise That There Is No Literary World In Birmingham Or Los Angeles Either. I Have Heard There Is One In Montreal, But I Don't Believe It. The Literary World Is In London And New York, The Only Cities Big Enough To Sustain Magazines Which Can Afford To Reject Copy.

As Far As Talent Goes, Marilyn Monroe Was So Minimally Gifted As To Be Almost Unemployable, And Anyone Who Holds To The Opinion That She Was A Great Natural Comic Identifies Himself Immediately As A Dunce.