Politics Is A Thing That

It Scored Right Away With Me By Being The Smooth, Fine-grained Sort, Not The Coarse Flaky, Dry-on-the-outside Rubbish Full Of Chunds Of Gut And Gristle To Testify To Its Authenticity.

Those Who Professed Themselves Unable To Believe In The Reality Of Human Progress Ought To Cheer Themselves Up, As The Students Under Examination Had Conceivably Been Cheered Up, By A Short Study Of The Middle Ages. The Hydrogen Bomb, The South African Government, Chioang Kaidick, Senator Mccarthy Himself, Would Then Seem A Light Price To Pay For No Longer Being In The Middle Ages.

I Once Wrote Deduceable Instead Of Deducible In A Book, Though Nobody Then Or Since Has Taken Me Up On It. A Small Point As They Go, Perhaps, But Rule I Of Writing Acceptably Is To Get Everything Right As Far As You Can, And In This Case I Had Neglected To.

The World That Seemed So Various And New, Well, It Does Contract. One's Burning Desire To Investigate Human Behavior, And To Make, Or Imply, Statements About It, Does Fall Off. And So One Does Find That Early Works Are Full Of Energy And Also Full Of Vulgarity, Crudity, And Incompetence, And Later Works Are More Carefully Finished, And In That Sense Better Literary Products. But . . . There's Often A Freshness That Is Missing In Later Works--for Every Gain There's A Loss. I Think It Evens Out In That Way.

Twentieth Century Music Is Like Paedophilia. No Matter How Persuasively And Persistently Its Champions Urge Their Cause, It Will Never Be Accepted By The Public At Large, Who Will Continue To Regard It With Incomprehension, Outrage And Repugnance.