But Complex People Are Never Certain That

No, It Is Not Only Our Fate But Our Business To Lose Innocence, And Once We Have Lost That, It Is Futile To Attempt A Picnic In Eden.

In 'real Life' Everything Is Diluted; In The Novel Everything Is Condensed.

Silences Have A Climax, When You Have Got To Speak.

The Writer, Unlike His Non-writing Adult Friend, Has No Predisposed Outlook; He Seldom Observes Deliberately. He Sees What He Didnot Intend To See; He Remembers What Does Not Seem Wholly Possible. Inattentive Learner In The Schoolroom Of Life, He Keeps Some Faculty Free To Veer And Wander. His Is The Roving Eye.

A Romantic Man Often Feels More Uplifted With Two Women Than With One: His Love Seems To Hit The Ideal Mark Somewhere Between Two Different Faces.