Love Means Having Something To Betray.

There Are Some Subjects That Can Only Be Tackled In Fiction.

I Once Heard Someone Say Morality Was Method. Do You Hold With That? I Suppose You Wouldn't. You Would Say That Morality Was Vested In The Aim, I Expect. Difficult To Know What One's Aims Are, That's The Trouble, Specially If You're British.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold Was The Work Of A Wayward Imagination Brought To The End Of Its Tether By Political Disgust And Personal Confusion. Fifty Years On, I Don't Associate The Book With Anything That Ever Happened To Me, Save For One Wordless Encounter At London Airport When A Worn-out, Middle-aged Military Kind Of Man In A Stained Raincoat Slammed A Handful Of Mixed Foreign Change On To The Bar And In Gritty Irish Accents Ordered Himself As Much Scotch As It Would Buy. In That Moment, Alec Leamas Was Born. Or So My Memory, Not Always A Reliable Informant, Tells Me.

It Struck Him As A Bit Unfair That, At The Age Of Eight, He Should Have Manifested The Same Sense Of Solitude That Haunted Him At Forty-three.

The Religious Cant That Will Send American Troops Into Battle Is Perhaps The Most Sickening Aspect Of This Surreal War-to-be. Bush Has An Arm-lock On God. And God Has Very Particular Political Opinions. God Appointed America To Save The World In Any Way That Suits America. God Appointed Israel To Be The Nexus Of America's Middle Eastern Policy, And Anyone Who Wants To Mess With That Idea Is A) Anti-semitic, B) Anti-american, C) With The Enemy, And D) A Terrorist.