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Over 85% Of All Statistics Are Made Up On The Spot.

-David Mitchell

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Over 85% Of All

David Mitchell

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Over 85% Of All Statistics Are Made Up On The Spot.

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If, By Happiness, You Mean The Absence Of Adversity I And All Fabricants Are The Happiest Stratum In Corpocracy As Genomicists Insist. However, If Happiness Means The Conquest Of Adversity Or A Sense Of Purpose, Or The Xercise Of One’s Will To Power, Then Of All Nea So Copros’s Slaves We Surely Are The Most Miserable.

Don't Bemoan Your Misspent Life Quite Yet. Forgive Me For Flaunting My Experience, But You Have No Conception Of What A Misspent Life Constitutes.

I Lost My Balance When The Train Pulled Away, But A Human Crumple Zone Buffered My Fall. We Stayed Like That, Half Fallen. Diagonal People.

Writing Is Probably One-fifth Coming Up With The Stuff, And Four-fifths Self-editing Again And Again And Again.

War's An Auction Where Whoever Can Pay The Most In Damage And Still Be Standing Wins.

Dead Things Show You What You’ll Be Too One Day.

...now I'm A Spent Firework; But At Least I've Been A Firework.

I’m Scared Of The Future. I’m Scared Of The Past. I’m Nervous At The Moment.

Memories Are Their Own Descendents Masquerading As The Ancestors Of The Present.

People Pontificate, "suicide Is Selfishness." Career Churchmen Like Pater Go A Step Further And Call In A Cowardly Assault On The Living. Oafs Argue This Specious Line For Varying Reason: To Evade Fingers Of Blame, To Impress One's Audience With One's Mental Fiber, To Vent Anger, Or Just Because One Lacks The Necessary Suffering To Sympathize. Cowardice Is Nothing To Do With It - Suicide Takes Considerable Courage. Japanese Have The Right Idea. No, What's Selfish Is To Demand Another To Endure An Intolerable Existence, Just To Spare Families, Friends, And Enemies A Bit Of Soul-searching.

If Losers Can Exploit What Their Adversaries Teach Them, Yes, Losers Can Become Winners In The Long Term.

I Got A Rejection Letter From An Editor At Harpercollins, Who Included A Report From His Professional Reader. This Report Shredded My First-born Novel, Laughed At My Phrasing, Twirled My Lacy Pretensions Around And Gobbed Into The Seething Mosh Pit Of My Stolen Clichés. As I Read The Report, The World Became Very Quiet And Stopped Rotating. What Poisoned Me Was The Fact That The Report's Criticisms Were All Absolutely True. The Sound Of My Landlady Digging In The Garden Got The World Moving Again. I Slipped The Letter Into The Trash... Knowing I'd Remember Every Word.

Whoever Opined "money Can't Buy You Happiness" Obviously Had Far Too Much Of The Stuff.

There Are So Many Cities In Every Single City.

Reality Is The Page. Life Is The Word.

Humans Live In A Pit Of Cheating, Exploiting, Hurting, Incarcerating. Every Time, The Species Wastes Some Part Of What It Could Be. This Waste Is Poisonous.

I Recently Bought A Cat, But Took It Back A Day Later Because Our Personalities Clashed.

This World, He Thinks, Contains Just One Masterpiece, And That Is Itself.

One's Ribs Shouldn't Be Prison Bars.

Once Any Tyranny Becomes Accepted As Ordinary, Its Victory Is Assured.

Who Was Blowing On The Nape Of My Neck?

The Earth's A Door If You Press Your Ear Against It.

Your Turn Has Come To Sift Through The Dreck Of Humanity For Rare Specks Of Originality

False Modesty Can Be Worse Than Arrogance.

I Pass Through Many Me's In The Course Of My Day, Each One Selfish With His Time. The Lying-in-bed Me And The Enjoying-the-hot-shower Me Are Particularly Selfish. The Late Me Loathes The Pair Of Them.

The Weak Are Meat The Strong Do Eat.

The Act Of Memory Is An Act Of Ghostwriting.

Why Ask A Question Whose Answer Would Demand Ten More Questions?

These Jokes The World Plays, They're Not Funny At All.

I Elbowed My Way Into The Grubby Café, Bought A Pie That Tasted Of Shoe Polish And A Pot Of Tea With Cork Crumbs Floating In It, And Eavesdropped On A Pair Of Shetland Pony Breeders. Despondency Makes One Hanker After Lives One Never Led. Why Have You Given Your Life To Books, Tc? Dull, Dull, Dull! The Memoirs Are Bad Enough, But All That Ruddy Fiction! Hero Goes On A Journey, Stranger Comes To Town, Somebody Wants Something, They Get It Or They Don't, Will Is Pitted Against Will. "admire Me, For I Am A Metaphor.

The Soul Is A Verb." He Impales A Lit Candle On A Spike. "not A Noun.

Sometimes, Comics Will Make The Observation That It's Not Jokes That Are Funny, It's Characters That Are Funny. And Isn't That True! That's Why I Always Kill Jokes. I'm Terrible At Them, Because I Get The Joke Right, But I Can't Get The Character Right, And It Just Goes Down Like A Lead Balloon.

True Knowledge Without Xperience Is Food Without Sustenance

The Most Malicious God Is The God Of The Counted Chicken.

For White Men, To Live Is To Own, Or To Try To Own More, Or To Die Trying To Own More. Their Appetites Are Astonishing! They Own Wardrobes, Slaves, Carriages, Houses, Warehouses, And Ships. They Own Ports, Cities, Plantations, Valleys, Mountains, Chains Of Islands. They Own This World, Its Jungles, Its Skies, And Its Seas. Yet They Complain That Dejima Is A Prison. They Complain They Are Not Free.

As For Reading, I Wish I Had A Magic Door To A Library Where I Could Go In, Read For Days And Days, And Come Back In The Same Minute I Left. I'm Still Looking For The Door.

How Vulgar, This Hankering After Immortality, How Vain, How False. Composers Are Merely Scribblers Of Cave Paintings. One Writes Music Because Winter Is Eternal And Because, If One Didn't, The Wolves And Blizzards Would Be At One's Throat All The Sooner.

The Healthy Can't Understand The Emptied, The Broken.

Power, Time, Gravity, Love. The Forces That Really Kick Ass Are All Invisible.

Write Something Every Single Day, Even If It's Just Three Lines. And It Doesn't Matter If It's Any Good - Just Write Something Every Day.

Autumn Is Leaving Its Mellowness Behind For Its Spiky, Rotted Stage. Don't Remember Summer Even Saying Goodbye.

She Has To Lose Her Pre-copernican View Of A Universe Revolving Around Herself.

Nothing Is As Eloquent As Nothing.

I Remain Thankful To God For All His Mercies.

Thankful To God

People Are Obscenities. Would Rather Be Music Than Be A Mass Of Tubes Squeezing Semisolids Around Itself For A Few Decades Before Becoming So Dribblesome It'll No Longer Function.

A Book You Finish Reading Is Not The Same Book It Was Before You Read It.

So Winners, Hae-joo Proposed, Are The Real Losers Because They Learn Nothing? What, Then, Are Losers? Winners?

A Half-read Book Is A Half-finished Love Affair.

By Each Crime And Every Kindness, We Birth Our Future.

Lunatics Are Writers Whose Works Write Them.

- This Isn't An Interrogation Or A Trail. Your Version Of The Truth Is The Only Thing That Matters. -truth Is Singular. It's 'versions' Are Mistruths.

I Think The Story Is The Most Ancient Form Of Human Entertainment.

Only Professional Diplomats, Inveterate Idiots And Women View Diplomacy As A Long-term Substitute For War.

I Still Haven't Quite Got Used To Eating Live Fish.

I Wonder How Many Years Suga Has Been Carrying His Curse Around With Him. I Forget That Other People In The World Have Broken Parts Too.

Women, O, Women! They'll Find The Baddest Meanin' In Your Words & Hold It Up.

Strip Back The Beliefs Pasted On By Governesses, Schools, And States, You Find Indelible Truths At One's Core.

As Many Truths As Men. Occasionally, I Glimpse A Truer Truth, Hiding In Imperfect Simulacrums Of Itself, But As I Approach, It Bestirs Itself & Moves Deeper Into The Thorny Swamp Of Dissent.

Right, My Phone. When These Things First Appeared, They Were So Cool. Only When It Was Too Late Did People Realize They Are As Cool As Electronic Tags On Remand Prisoners.

Assured Her I've Never Loved Anyone Except Myself And Have No Intention Of Starting Now.

...it’s Not Just The Person Who Fills A House, It’s Their I’ll Be Back Later!s, Their Toothbrushes And Unused Hats And Coats, Their Belongingnesses.

Missing Someone

Three Or Four Times Only In My Youth Did I Glimpse The Joyous Isles, Before They Were Lost To Fogs, Depressions, Cold Fronts, Ill Winds, And Contrary Tides... I Mistook Them For Adulthood. Assuming They Were A Fixed Feature In My Life's Voyage, I Neglected To Record Their Latitude, Their Longitude, Their Approach. Young Ruddy Fool. What Wouldn't I Give Now For A Never-changing Map Of The Ever-constant Ineffable? To Possess, As It Were, An Atlas Of Clouds.

How Lazily "xperts" Dismiss What They Fail To Understand!

Sometimes The Fluffy Bunny Of Incredulity Zooms Around The Bend So Rapidly That The Greyhound Of Language Is Left, Agog, In The Starting Cage.

I Really Wish They Hadn't Made The Set Out Of Asbestos.

Oh, Diplomacy ... It Mops Up War's Spillages; Legitimizes Its Outcomes; Gives The Strong State The Means To Impose Its Will On A Weaker One, While Saving Its Fleets And Battalions For Weightier Opponents.

I Think We Think In Terms Of Stories.

For Me, Novels Coalesce Into Being, Rather Than Arrive Fully Formed.

The Her That Lived In Her Looked Out Through Her Eyes, Through My Eyes, And At The Me That Lives In Me.

Through My Eyes

All Revolutions Are The Sheerest Fantasy Until They Happen; Then They Become Historical Inevitabilities.

Science Devises Ever Bloodier Means Of War Until Humanity's Powers Of Destruction Overcome Our Powers Of Creation And Our Civilisation Drives Itself To Extinction.

I Love Hbo Productions, Actually, Like 'the Wire.'

If You’re In Your Life, Chance. Viewed From The Outside, Like A Book You’re Reading, It’s Fate All The Way.

Try This For Deviancy: Fabricants Are Mirrors Held Up To Purebloods' Conscience; What Purebloods See Reflected There Sickens Them. So They Blame You For Holding The Mirror." I Hid My Shock By Asking When Purebloods Might Blame Themselves. Mephi Replied, "history Suggests, Not Until They Are Made To.

I Understand Now That Boundaries Between Noise And Sound Are Conventions. All Boundaries Are Conventions, Waiting To Be Transcended. One May Transcend Any Convention If Only One Can First Conceive Of Doing So.

Travel Far Enough, You Meet Yourself.

Human Hunger Birthed The Civlize, But Human Hunger Killed It Too.

Faith, The Least Exclusive Club On Earth, Has The Craftiest Doorman.

If We Believe That Humanity May Transcend Tooth And Claw, If We Believe Divers Races & Creeds Can Share This World As Peaceably As The Orphans Share Their Candlenut Tree, If We Believe Leaders Must Be Just, Violence Muzzled, Power Accountable & The Riches Of The Earth & Its Oceans Shared Equitably, Such A World Will Come To Pass.

A Life Can Get Knocked Into A New Orbit By A Car Crash, A Lottery Win Or Just A Bleary-eyed Consultant Giving Bad News In A Calm Voice.

I Am, Emphatically. Mental Illness Triggered By Xperimental Error.

We Are Both Busy People, So Let's Cut The Small Talk.

I'm A Novelist, That's How I Make My Livelihood, And I Concentrate On The Novels.

Perhaps All Human Interaction Is About Wanting And Getting.

Spent The Fortnight Gone In The Music Room Reworking My Year's Fragments Into A 'sextet For Overlapping Soloists': Piano, Clarinet, 'cello, Flute, Oboe, And Violin, Each In Its Own Language Of Key, Scale, And Color. In The First Set, Each Solo Is Interrupted By Its Successor; In The Second, Each Interruption Is Recontinued, In Order. Revolutionary Or Gimmicky? Shan't Know Until It's Finished, And By Then It'll Be Too Late.

Little Girls Are Like Old Cats. If They Don't Like You Nothing On Earth Will Make Them Pretend To.

What Is Any Ocean But A Multitude Of Drops?

Drops In The Ocean

The Best Way To Get Out Of Debt Is Not To Seek To Get Out Of Debt, But To Seek To Create Wealth

It's True That Stammerers Can Become More Adept At Sentence Construction.

To Fool A Judge, Feign Fascination, But To Bamboozle The Whole Court, Feign Boredom.

Wars Do Not Combust Without Warning. They Begin As Little Fires Over The Horizon. Wars Approach. A Wise Man Watches For The Smoke, And Prepares To Vacate The Neighborhood, Just Like Ayrs And Jocasta. My Worry Is That The Next War Will Be So Big, Nowhere With A Decent Restaurant Will Be Left Untouched.

Souls Cross Ages Like Clouds Cross Skies, An' Tho' A Cloud's Shape Nor Hue Nor Size Don't Stay The Same, It's Still A Cloud An' So Is A Soul. Who Can Say Where The Cloud's Blowed From Or Who The Soul'll Be 'morrow? Only Sonmi The East An' The West An' The Compass An' The Atlas, Yay, Only The Atlas O' Clouds.

Peace, Though Beloved Of Our Lord, Is A Cardinal Virtue Only If Your Neighbors Share Your Conscience.

Mother Used To Say Escape Is Never Further Than The Nearest Book.

A Life Spent Shaping A World I Want Jackson To Inherit, Not One I Fear Jackson Shall Inherit, This Strikes Me As A Life Worth The Living.

What Is "poker"? A Card Game Where Abler Liars Take Money Off Less Able Liars.

The Truth Of A Myth...is Not In Its Words But Its Patterns.

Loneliness Is An Integral Part Of Travelling. I Used To Think It Was The Downside To Travelling, But Now I Realise It Is A Necessary Educative Part Of It To Be Embraced.

The Uncreated And The Dead Exist Solely In Our Actual And Virtual Pasts.

I've Become A Less Brave Traveller Since I Became A Dad, But In The Past I Was More Foolhardy Than Brave.

Two People Who Are A Little Bit Deluded In Each Other's Favour. That's What Love Is, Isn't It?

If Your Words're True, They're Armed.

When I Think About It, I'm Happily Bewildered That People Will Preorder My Books They'll Preorder Me. What A Lucky Guy!

I...asked Why Purebloods Despised Me So. He Replied, 'what If The Difference Between Social Strata Stem Not From Genomics Or Inherent Xcellence Or Even Dollars, But Merely Differences In Knowledge? Would This Not Mean The Whole Pyramid Is Built On Shifting Sands?... Fabricants Are Mirrors Held Up To Purebloods' Consciences; What Purebloods See Reflected There Sickens Them. So They Blame You For Holding Up The Mirror

The Rain's Innumerable Hooves Spatter On The Streets And Roofs.

I Rarely Ever Put My Head Above The Rampart And See Where This Big Lumbering Behemoth Called 'global Literature' Is Going.

Torturous Advances Won Over Generations Can Be Lost By A Single Stroke Of A Myopic President's Pen Or A Vainglorious General's Sword.

The Better Organized The State, The Duller Its Humanity.

It's A Small World. It Keeps Recrossing Itself.

Japanese Food Makes Me Feel Particularly Good.

Perpetual Encagement Endows Any Mirage Of Salvation With Credibility.

Implausible Truth Can Serve One Better Than Plausible Fiction

Don't Remember Summer Even Saying Goodbye.

The Human World Is Made Of Stories, Not People. The People The Stories Use To Tell Themselves Are Not To Be Blamed

I Am Going To Tell You A Secret. Everything Is About Wanting. Everything. Things Happen Because Of People Wanting. Watch Closely, And You’ll See What I Mean.

Maybe Then You Comprehend, Speaking One Language Only Is A Prison!

Foreign Language

Words Are What You Fight With But What You Fight About Is Whether Or Not You're Afraid Of Them.

If I Want To Act Relaxed, It's Going To Take All My Cunning, Skill, And Concentration.

Why Human Beings Despise What Is Beautiful And Good, And Seek To Destroy The Things They Need The Most

The Mind Has A Mind Of Its Own. It Shows Us Pictures. Pictures Of The Past And The Might-one-day-be. This Mind's Mind Exerts Its Own Will, Too, And Has Its Own Voice.

I Often Lose Myself In The Sudoku-like Challenges Of Making A Book Work.

The Mind Abhors A Vacancy & Is Wont To People It With Phantoms.

Do Ants Get Headaches?

The Spirit Was Willing But The Flesh Was Weak.

Trees're Always A Relief, After People.

Anticipating The End Of The World Is Humanity's Oldest Passtime

End Of The World

I Think Words Operate Like Musical Notes That The Eyeball Hears.

Pain Is Strong, Aye - But Friends' Eyes, More Strong." I Told Him That He Knows Next To Nothing About Me & I Know Nothing About Him. He Jabbed At His Eyes & Jabbed At Mine, As If That Single Gesture Were Ample Explanation.

The Song Instantly Insisted It'd Never Existed.

The World Never Stops Unmaking What The World Never Stops Making. But Who Says The World Has To Make Sense?

But You Have Read Madame Bovary?' (i'd Never Heard Of Her Books.) 'no.

The Human World Is Made Of Stories, Not People.

What Do I Miss? Second-hand Bookshops Where I Can Find Things I Had No Idea I Wanted. Abebooks Helps, But It Doesn't Have That Smell.

Love's Pure Free Joy When It Works, But When It Goes Bad You Pay For The Good Hours At Loan-shark Prices.

... In A Cycle As Old As Tribalism, Ignorance Of The Other Engenders Fear; Fear Engenders Hatred; Hatred Engenders Violence; Violence Engenders Further Violence Until The Only "rights", The Only Law, Are Whatever Is Willed By The Most Powerful.

Dreams Are All I Have Ever Truly Owned.

The Music Provokes A Sharp Longing The Music Soothes.

Music’s A Wood You Walk Through.

I Wonder If You Encountered This Dictum First Spoken By A Twentieth-century Statesman: "an Abyss Cannot Be Crossed In Two Steps.

Hate Eats The Hater The Way Ogres Eat Little Boys.

Probably In A Parallel Universe Not Far From Here, I'm Working For Nintendo.

Parallel Universe

If War's First Victim Is Truth, Its Second Is Clerical Efficiency.

When Insolvent, Pack Minimally, With A Valise Tough Enough To Be Thrown Onto A London Pavement From A First- Or Second-floor Window. Insist On Hotel Rooms No Higher.

If Swans Weren't Real Myths'd Make Up.

Clocks In Disagreement Are Worse Than No Clock At All.

Ive Never Had Cocaine. I Work In Showbusiness And No One Has Ever Offered Me Cocaine. Can You Believe That? It Makes Me Worry Im Not Always The Life And Soul Of The Party That I Feel Like In My Head.

The Revelation Of Sonmi 451 To Be Is To Be Perceived, And So To Know Thyself Is Only Possible Through The Eyes Of The Other. The Nature Of Our Immortal Lives Is In The Consequences Of Our Words And Deeds, That Go On And Are Pushing Themselves Throughout All Time. - Our Lives Are Not Our Own. From Womb To Tomb, We Are Bound To Others, Past And Present, And By Each Crime And Every Kindness, We Birth Our Future.

Dreams Are Shores Where The Ocean Of Spirit Meets The Land Of Matter. Dreams Are Beaches Where The Yet-to-be, The Once-were, The Will-never-be May Walk Awhile With The Still-are.

Faith, The Least Exclusive Club On Earth, Has The Craftiest Doorman. Every Time I've Stepped Through Its Wide-open Doorway, I Find Myself Stepping Out On The Street Again.

An Idler And A Sluggard Are As Different As A Gourmand And A Glutton.

I'm Not From A Milieu Where High-register Language Or Philosophical Ideas Were Welcome.

Any Adaptation Is A Translation, And There Is Such A Thing As An Unreadably Faithful Translation; And I Believe A Degree Of Reinterpretatio N For The New Language May Be Not Only Inevitable But Desirable.

I Think All Writers Of My Age Who Are Brought Up On Films Probably By The Age Of 16 Have Seen Many More Films Than They Have Read Classics Of Literature. We Can't Help But Be Influenced By Film. Film Has Got Some Great Tricks That It's Taught Writers.

. . .my Dreams Are The Single Unpredictable Factor In My Zoned Days And Nights. Nobody Allots Them, Or Censors Them. Dreams Are All I Have Ever Truly Owned.

Lying's Wrong, But When The World Spins Backwards, A Small Wrong May Be A Big Right.

Why Does Any Martyr Cooperate With His Judases?...we See A Game Beyond The Endgame...as Seneca Warned Nero: No Matter How Many Of Us You Kill, You Will Never Kill Your Successor.

Whoever Dies With The Most Stuff Wins.

People B'lief The World Is Built So An Tellin Em It Ain't So Caves The Roofs On Their Heads'n'maybe Yours.

I'm Not A Great Deep Political Thinker.

Men Invented Money Women Invented Mutual Aid

In An Individual, Selfishness Uglifies The Soul; For The Human Species, Selfishness Is Extinction.

Probably" Is A Word With An Emergency Ejector Seat.

It'll Be All Right." Julia's Gentleness Makes It Worse. "in The End, Jace." "it Doesn't Feel Very All Right." "that's Because It's Not The End.

But No, We Cross, Crisscross, And Recross Our Old Tracks Like Figure Skaters.

Always, It Is The Poor People Who Pay. And Always, It Is The Poor People's Women Who Pay The Most.

Writing Is Such A Damn Lonely Sickness.

'y' Is About The Weakest Letter Of All. 'y' Can't Make Up Its Mind If It's A Vowel Or A Consonant, Can It?

I Believe Death Is Only A Door. One Closes, And Another Opens. If I Were To Imagine Heaven, I Would Imagine A Door Opening. And He Would Be Waiting For Me There.

War May Be An Auction For Countries. For Soldiers It's A Lottery.

Truth Is Singular. Its 'versions' Are Mistruths.

Many Children Are Natural Fantasists, I Think, Perhaps Because Their Imaginations Have Yet To Be Clobbered Into Submission By Experience.

Time Is The Speed At Which The Past Decays.

As An Experienced Editor, I Disapprove Of Flashbacks, Foreshadowings, And Tricksy Devices; They Belong In The 1980s With M.a.s In Postmodernism And Chaos Theory.

One Cannot Pass By Without Thinking Of The Density Of Men In The Ground.

As Long As Our Civilisation Keeps Trundling Along Generally Forwards, Then There Is The Possibility Of A Future Where Ethnicity Is Merely An Interesting Badge, Not A Uniform You Can't Take Off.

Human Beings Need To Watch Out For Reasonless Niceness Too. It's Never Reasonless And Its Reason's Not Usually Nice.

Wars Are Never Cured, They Just Go Into Remission For A Few Years.

I Can Write Pretty Much Anywhere.

Folks With Most To Complain About Seldom Complain Most.

Power. What Do We Mean? 'the Ability To Determine Another Man's Luck.' ...how Is It That Some Men Attain Mastery Over Others While The Vast Majority Live And Die As Minions, As Livestock? The Answer Is A Holy Trinity. First: God-given Gifts Of Charisma. Second: The Discipline To Nurture These Gifts To Maturity, For Though Humanity's Topsoil Is Fertile With Talent, Only One Seed In Ten Thousand Will Ever Flower -- For Want Of Discipline. Third: The Will To Power.

Books Don't Offer Real Escape, But They Can Stop A Mind Scratching Itself Raw.

…and There, In The Background, The Sky’s Sediment Had Sunk To A Place Where All The Woe Of The Words ‘i Am’ Dissolved Into Blue Peace. He Said It. ‘the Ocean.

I Have Always Preferred Maps To Books. They Don't Answer You Back.

Any Society's Upper-crust Is Riddled With Immorality, How Else D'you Think They Keep Their Power? Reputation Is King Of The Public Sphere, Not Private. It Is Dethroned By Public Acts.

There's A Link Between Bigotry And Bad Spelling.

You Can Maintain Power Over People, As Long As You Give Them Something. Rob A Man Of Everything, And That Man Will No Longer Be In Your Power.

... But It Is Attitude, Not Years, That Condemns One To The Ranks Of The Undead, Or Else Proffers Salvation. In The Domain Of The Young There Dwells Many An Undead Soul. They Rush About So, Their Inner Putrefaction Is Concealed For A Few Decades, That Is All.

Act', Implores The Ghost Of Future Regret. 'i Shan't Give You Another Chance'. [and So Jacob Does] 'damned Fool,' Groans The Demon Of Present Regret. 'what Have You Done?

I Believe There Is Another World Waiting For Us. A Better World. And I'll Be Waiting For You There.

We Looked At Each Other For The Last Time; Nothing Is As Eloquent As Nothing.

What Wouldn't I Give Now For A Never-changing Map Of The Ever-constant Ineffable? To Possess, As It Were, An Atlas Of Clouds.

Strip Back The Beliefs Pasted On By Governesses, Schools, And States, You Find Indelible Truths At One's Core. Rome'll Decline And Fall Again, Cortés'll Lay Tenochtitlán To Waste Again, And Later, Ewing Will Sail Again, Adrian'll Be Blown To Pieces Again, You And I'll Sleep Under The Corsican Stars Again, I'll Come To Bruges Again, Fall In And Out Of Love With Eva Again, You'll Read This Letter Again, The Sun'll Grow Cold Again. Nietzsche's Gramophone Record. When It Ends, The Old One Plays It Again, For An Eternity Of Eternities.

A Novelist Needs To Know His Own Strong Points And Weak Points.

I Feel Like Something Important Has Happened To Me. Is This Possible?

Often I Think Boys Don’t Become Men. Boys Just Get Papier-mâchéd Inside A Man’s Mask. Sometimes You Can Tell The Boy Is Still In There.

So Little Is Actually Worthy Of Belief Or Disbelief. Better To Strive To Coexist Than Seek To Disapprove . . .

Do," Said Louisa Finally, "whatever You Can't Not Do.

Italians Give Their City Sexes, And They All Agree That The Sex For A Particular City Is Quite Correct, But None Of Them Can Explain Why. I Love That. London's Middle-aged And Male, Respectably Married But Secretly Gay.

Mother Used To Say Escape Is Never Further Than The Nearest Book. Well, Mumsy, No, Not Really. Your Beloved Large-print Sagas Of Rags, Riches, And Heartbreak Were No Camouflage Against The Miseries Trained On You By The Tennis Ball Launcher Of Life, Were They? But, Yes, Mum, There Again, You Have A Point. Books Don’t Offer Real Escape, But They Can Stop A Mind Scratching Itself Raw.

Leaves Turned To Soil Beneath My Feet. Thus It Is, Trees Eat Themselves.

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