The Writer Is All Alone.

Out Of Its Squalor And Human Decay, Its Eruptions Of Butchery, India Produced So Many People Of Grace And Beauty, Ruled By Elaborate Courtesy. Producing Too Much Life, It Denied The Value Of Life; Yet It Permitted A Unique Human Development To So Many. Nowhere Were People So Heightened, Rounded And Individualistic; Nowhere Did They Offer Themselves So Fully And With Such Assurance. To Know Indians Was To Take A Delight In People As People; Every Encounter Was An Adventure. I Did Not Want India To Sink [out Of My Memory]; The Mere Thought Was Painful.

The World Outside Existed In A Kind Of Darkness; And We Inquired About Nothing.

The Writer Is All Alone.

Writing Has To Support Itself.

That Element Of Surprise Is What I Look For When I Am Writing. It Is My Way Of Judging What I Am Doing - Which Is Never An Easy Thing To Do.