There Is Nothing Quite So Terrifying As

Nothing Sets A Person Up More Than Having Something Turn Out Just The Way It's Supposed To Be, Like Falling Into A Swiss Snowdrift And Seeing A Big Dog Come Up With A Little Cask Of Brandy Round Its Neck.

A Wartime Minister Of Information Is Compelled, In The National Interest, To Such Continuous Acts Of Duplicity That Even His Natural Hair Must Grow To Resemble A Wig.

A Newspaper Is Always A Weapon In Somebody's Hands.

Evidently There Are Plenty Of People In Journalism Who Have Neither Got What They Liked Nor Quite Grown To Like What They Get. They Write Pieces They Do Not Much Enjoy Writing, For Papers They Totally Despise, And The Sad Process Ends By Ruining Their Style And Disintegrating Their Personality, Two Developments Which In A Writer Cannot Be Separate, Since His Personality And Style Must Progress Or Deteriorate Together, Like A Married Couple In A Country Where Death Is The Only Permissible Divorce.

Small Earthquake In Chile. Not Many Dead.