Ah, Well, I Have No Talent For

For Many Weeks After [my Wife] Died, I Could Not Get Used To The Feeling Of Coldness And Lifelessness On Her Side Of The Bed - And It Was Even Worse When They Took The Body Away And Buried Her.

We Say, 'shall We Meet For A Drink?', As Though Drinking Were The Main End Of The Appointment, And The Matter Of Company Only Incidental, We Are So Shy About Admitting Our Need For One Another.[...]we Say, 'would You Like To Come For Some Coffee?', As Though It Were Less Frightening To Acknowledge That We Are Heavily Dependent On Mildly Stimulating Drinks, Than To Acknowledge That We Are At All Dependent On The Companionship Of Other People.

Sometimes I Feel That I Am Destined Always To Be Offstage Whenever The Main Action Occurs. That God Has Made Me The Victim Of Some Cosmic Practical Joke, By Assigning Me Little More Than A Walk-on Part In My Own Life. Or Sometimes I Feel That My Role Is Simply To Be A Spectator To Other People's Stories, And Always To Wander Away At The Most Important Moment, Drifiting Into The Kitchen To Make A Cup Of Tea Just As The Denouement Unfolds.

I Had No Sense Of Any Reputation That What A Carve Up! Might Acquire - At The Time I Didnt Even Have A Publisher, So My Main Worry Was Whether It Was Even Going To See The Light Of Day Or Not.

The Writer I Feel The Most Affinity With - You Said You Felt My Books Are 19th Century Novels, I Think They're 18th Century Novels - Is Fielding, Henry Fielding, He's The Guy Who Does It For Me.