Self Knowledge Is Always Bad News.

Is Man A Savage At Heart, Skinned O'er With Fragile Manners? Or Is Savagery But A Faint Taint In The Natural Man's Gentility, Which Erupts Now And Again Like Pimples On An Angel's Arse?

Nobody Knew How To Be What They Were Right.

Tis E'er The Wont Of Simple Folk To Prize The Deed And O'erlook The Motive, And Of Learned Folk To Discount The Deed And Lay Open The Soul Of The Doer.

Nothing Is Intrinsically Valuable; The Value Of Everything Is Attributed To It, Assigned To It From Outside The Thing Itself, By People.

If You Are A Novelist Of A Certain Type Of Termperament, Then What You Really Want To Do Is Re-invent The World. God Wasn't Too Bad A Novelist Except He Was A Realist.