What I Felt Then I Feel Now:

Very Bright Teeth As Big And Orderly As Piano Keys.

In 1952, I Had Gone To England On A Literary Pilgrimage, But What I Also Saw, Even At That Distance From The Blitz, Were Bombed-out Ruins And An Enervated Society, While The Continent Was Still, Psychologically, In The Grip Of Its Recent Atrocities.

The Imagination Has Resources And Intimations We Don't Even Know About.

One Reason Writers Write Is Out Of Revenge.

I Would Distinguish Between A Visitor And A Pilgrim: Both Will Come To A Place And Go Away Again, But A Visitor Arrives, A Pilgrim Is Restored. A Visitor Passes Through A Place; The Place Passes Through The Pilgrim.