There Is A Deep Sadness To American

I Think In Retrospect That All Those 'alternative'modes Of Living Were Little More Than Exercises In Arrested Development.

Ideologists Of All Kinds Find A Strange Sort Of Comfort In The Madness Of The Crowd; It Confirms Them In Their Suspicion That History, Far From Being Made By The Great Mass Of Individuals - As Marx Averred - Is Rather Unmade By A Single Massive Individual, A Collective Other, Who Stands In Stark Contrast To You And He.

Lust Was A Positive High-tension Cable, Plugged Into My Core, Activating A Near-epileptic Seizure Of Conviction That This Was The One Thing I Had To Do In Life.

In My View The Plangent Artificiality Of A Lot Of Creative Work Results From The Fact That The People Who Write Novels, Direct Films And Put On Plays Tend To Read Too Many Novels, Watch Too Many Films And Go To Too Many Plays.

The Novelist, Quite Rightly, Fears The Psychoanalyst As Both An Enemy And A Usurper.