I Have An Ambition To Write A

English, As A Subject, Never Really Got Over Its Upstart Nature. It Tries To Bulk Itself Up With Hopeless Jargon And Specious Complexity, Tries To Imitate Subjects It Can Never Be.

...despite All This, It Is Still Hard To Admit That There Is No One More English Than The Indian, No One More Indian Than The English. There Are Still Young White Men Who Are Angry About That; Who Will Roll Out At Closing Time Into The Poorly Lit Streets With A Kitchen Knife Wrapped In A Tight Fist. But It Makes An Immigrant Laugh To Hear The Fears Of The Nationalist, Scared Of Infection, Penetration, Miscegenation, When This Is Small Fry, Peanuts, Compared To What The Immigrant Fears - Dissolution, Disappearance.

(and Catholics Give Out Forgiveness At About The Same Rate As Politicians Give Out Promises And Whores Give Out)

The End Is Simply The Beginning Of An Even Longer Story.

The Ideal Reader Cannot Sleep When Holding The Writer He Was Meant To Be With.