The Endless Newsreel Clips Of Nuclear Explosions

I Feel That, In A Sense, The Writer Knows Nothing Any Longer. He Has No Moral Stance. He Offers The Reader The Contents Of His Own Head, A Set Of Options And Imaginative Alternatives. His Role Is That Of A Scientist, Whether On Safari Or In His Laboratory, Faced With An Unknown Terrain Or Subject. All He Can Do Is To Devise Various Hypotheses And Test Them Against The Facts.

During The 1960s, The Shanghai Of My Childhood Seemed A Portent Of The Media Cities Of The Future, Dominated By Advertising And Mass Circulation Newspapers And Swept By Unpredictable Violence.

People, Particularly Over-moralistic Americans, Have Often Seen Me As A Pessimist And Humourless To Boot, Yet I Think I Have An Almost Maniacal Sense Of Humour. The Problem Is That It's Rather Deadpan.

An Arts Degree Is Like A Diploma In Origami. And About As Much Use.

The Enlightenment View Of Mankind Is A Complete Myth. It Leads Us Into Thinking We're Sane And Rational Creatures Most Of The Time, And We're Not.