No Human Endeavour Can Ever

I Will Tell You What Man Is. He Is A Freak, An Ejected Foetus Robbed Of His Natural Development, Thrown Out Into The World With A Naked Covering Of Parchment, With Too Little Room For His Teeth And A Soft Bulging Skull Like A Bubble. But Nature Stirs A Pudding There.

I Suppose I'd Have To Say That My Favourite Author Is Homer. After Homer's Ilaid, I'd Name The Odyssey, And Then I'd Mention A Number Of Plays Of Euripides.

If Faces Were Different When Lit From Above Or Below -- What Was A Face? What Was Anything?

The Mask Was A Thing On It's Own, Behind Which Jack Hid, Liberated From Shame And Self-conciousness.

Malcolm Bradbury Made The Point, And I Don't Know Whether It's A Valid One Or Not, That The Real English At The Moment Is Not The English Spoken In England Or In America Or Even In Canada Or Australia Or New Zealand. The Real English Is The English Which Is A Second Language, So That It's Rather Like Latin In The Days Of The Roman Empire When People Had Their Own Languages, But Had Latin In Order To Communicate.