As Writers, We Are Exploring The Mystery,

The Primacy Of The Word, Basis Of The Human Psyche, That Has In Our Age Been Used For Mind-bending Persuasion And Brain-washing Pulp, Disgraced By Gobbles And Debased By Advertising Copy, Remains A Force For Freedom That Flies Out Between All Bars.

Where Do Whites Fit In The New Africa? Nowhere, I'm Inclined To Sayand I Do Believe That It Is True That Even The Gentlest And Most Westernised Africans Would Like The Emotional Idea Of The Continent Entirely Without The Complication Of The Presence Of The White Man For A Generation Or Two. But Nowhere, As An Answer For Us Whites, Is In The Same Category As Remarks Like What's The Use Of Living? In The Face Of The Threat Of Atomic Radiation. We Are Living; We Are In Africa.

I Cannot Live With Someone Who Can't Live Without Me.

In Writing, Sex Doesn't Matter; It's The Writing That Matters.

Perhaps There Is No Other Way Of Reaching Some Understanding Of Being Than Through Art? Writers Themselves Don't Analyze What They Do; To Analyze Would Be To Look Down While Crossing A Canyon On A Tightrope. To Say This Is Not To Mystify The Process Of Writing But To Make An Image Out Of The Intense Inner Concentration The Writer Must Have To Cross The Chasms Of The Aleatory And Make Them The Word's Own, As An Explorer Plants A Flag.