Sooner Or Later, Everything Turns Into Television.

If You Can Smell Garlic, Everything Is All Right.

The Enormous Energy Of The Twentieth Century, Enough To Drive The Planet Into A New Orbit Around A Happier Star, Was Being Expended To Maintain This Immense Motionless Pause.

I Felt The Pressure Of Imagination Against The Doors Of My Mind Was So Great That They Were Going To Burst.

When The Modern Movement Began, Starting Perhaps With The Paintings Of Manet And The Poetry Of Baudelaire And Rimbaud, What Distinguished The Modern Movement Was The Enormous Honesty That Writers, Painters And Playwrights Displayed About Themselves. The Bourgeois Novel Flinches From Such Notions.

Civilised Life, You Know, Is Based On A Huge Number Of Illusions In Which We All Collaborate Willingly. The Trouble Is We Forget After A While That They Are Illusions And We Are Deeply Shocked When Reality Is Torn Down Around Us.