Calling Someone A Monster Does Not Make

What I Really Do Is Take Real Plums And Put Them In An Imaginary Cake. If You're Interested In The Cake, You Get Rather Annoyed With People Saying What Species The Real Plum Was.

If You Talked Or Laughed In Church, Told Lies, Had Impure Thoughts Or Conversations, You Were Bad; If You Obeyed Your Parents Or Guardians, Went To Confession And Communion Regularly, Said Prayers For The Dead, You Were Good.

A Novelist Is An Elephant, But An Elephant Who Must Pretend To Forget.

This Is The Spirit Of The Enchantment Under Which Venice Lies, Pearly And Roseate, Like The Sleeping Beauty, Changeless Throughout The Centuries, Arrested, While The Concrete Forest Of The Modern World Grows Up Around Her.

The Suspense In A Novel Is Not Only In The Reader, But In The Novelist Himself, Who Is Intensely Curious Too About What Will Happen To The Hero.