When Even Despair Ceases To

The Detective Story Itself Is In A Dilemma. It Is A Vein Which Is In Danger Of Being Worked Out, The Demand Is Constant, The Powers Of Supply Variable, And The Reader, With Each One He Absorbs, Grows A Little More Sophisticated And Harder To Please, While The Novelist, After Each One He Writes, Becomes A Little More Exhausted.

Dining Out Is A Vice, A Dissipation Of Spirit Punished By Remorse. We Eat, Drink, And Talk A Little Too Much, Abuse All Our Friends, Belch Out Our Literary Preferences And Are Egged On By Accomplices In The Audience To Acts Of Mental Exhibitionism. Such Evenings Cannot Fail To Diminish Those Who Take Part In Them. They End On Monkey Hill.

It Is The Fear Of Middle-age In The Young, Of Old-age In The Middle-aged, Which Is The Prime Cause Of Infidelity, That Infallible Rejuvenator.

The Greatest Problem With Women Is How To Contrive That They Should Seem Our Equals

M Is For Marx And Clashing Of Classes And Movement Of Masses And Massing Of Asses.