Individuality Is Freedom Lived.

There's Something Wonderfully Exciting About The Quiet Sing Song Of An Aeroplane Overhead With All The Guns In Creation Lighting Out At It, And Searchlights Feeling Their Way Across The Sky Like Antennae, And The Earth Shaking Snort Of The Bombs And The Whimper Of Shrapnel Pieces When They Come Down To Patter On The Roof.

Mealtime's The Only Time I Get To Devote To The Things Of The Spirit.

The Only Excuse For A Novelist, Aside From The Entertainment And Vicarious Living His Books Give The People Who Read Them, Is As A Sort Of Second-class Historian Of The Age He Lives In. The "reality" He Missed By Writing About Imaginary People, He Gains By Being Able To Build A Reality More Nearly Out Of His Own Factual Experience Than A Plain Historian Or Biographer Can.

A Satirist Is A Man Whose Flesh Creeps So At The Ugly And The Savage And The Incongruous Aspects Of Society That He Has To Express Them As Brutally And Nakedly As Possible In Order To Get Relief.

Men Who Have Lost Their Conviction Of What Is Good And What Is Bad Find Themselves Without A Sextant To Check Their Position By. We Are In The Position Of A Man With An Elaborate Camping Kit Who Finds Himself Lost In The Woods Without His Matches; To Kindle A Fire He Has To Resort To The Stratagems Of The Caveman. We Fall Back Through Generations Into The Oldest Terrors And Confusions Of The Race.