The Weasel Under The Cocktail Cabinet.

Rationality Went Down The Drain Donkey's Years Ago And Hasn't Been Seen Since.

I Know The Place. It Is True. Everything We Do Corrects The Space Between Death And Me And You.

I Suggest That Us Foreign Policy Can Still Be Defined As "kiss My Ass Or I'll Kick Your Head In." But Of Course It Doesn't Put It Like That. It Talks Of "low Intensity Conflict..." What All This Adds Up To Is A Disease At The Very Centre Of Language, So That Language Becomes A Permanent Masquerade, A Tapestry Of Lies.

It’s Very Difficult To Feel Contempt For Others When You See Yourself In The Mirror.

A Writer's Life Is A Highly Vulnerable, Almost Naked Activity. We Don't Have To Weep About That. The Writer Makes His Choice And Is Stuck With It. But It Is True To Say That You Are Open To All The Winds, Some Of Them Icy Indeed. You Are Out On Your Own, Out On A Limb. You Find No Shelter, No Protection - Unless You Lie - In Which Case Of Course You Have Constructed Your Own Protection And, It Could Be Argued, Become A Politician.