What Was Past Was Past. I Suppose

What Matters In The End In Literature, What Is Always There, Is The Truly Good. And- Though Played Out Forms Can Throw Up Miraculous Sports Like The Importance Of Being Earnest Or Decline And Fall- What Is Good Is Always What Is New, In Both Form And Content. What Is Good Forgets Whatever Models It Might Have Had, And Is Unexpected; We Have To Catch It On The Wing.

Argentine Political Life Is Like The Life Of An Ant Community Or An African Forest Tribe: Full Of Events, Full Of Crisis And Deaths, But Life Is Always Cyclical, And The Year Ends As It Begins.

The Writer Is All Alone.

I Had No Student Friends To Talk To About Literature. My Tutor Was A Really Nice Man, Very Charming - But He Had No Literary Judgment.

My Publisher, Who Was So Good As A Taster And Editor, When She Became A Writer, Lo And Behold, It Was All This Feminine Tosh.