Curiosity In Rome Is A Form Of

... Artists Were Intended To Be An Ornament To Society. As A Society In Themselves They Are Unthinkable.

Imagination Of My Kind Is Most Caught, Most Fired, Most Worked Upon By The Unfamiliar: I Have Thrivenon The Changes And Chances, The Dislocations Andcontrasts Which Have Made Up So Much Of My Life.

History Is Not A Book, Arbitrarily Divided Into Chapters, Or A Drama Chopped Into Separate Acts; It Has Flowed Forward. Rome Is A Continuity, Called 'eternal.' What Has Accumulated In This Place Acts On Everyone, Day And Night, Like An Extra Climate.

Mr. [aldous] Huxley Has Been The Alarming Young Man For A Long Time, A Sort Of Perpetual Clever Nephew Who Can Be Relied On To Flutter The Lunch Party. Whatever Will He Say Next? How Does He Think Of Those Things? He Has Been Deplored Once Or Twice, But Feeling Is In His Favor: He Is Steadily Read. He Is At Once The Truly Clever Person And The Stupid Person's Idea Of The Clever Person; He Is Expected To Be Relentless, To Administer Intellectual Shocks.

Each Of Us Keeps, Battened Down Inside Himself, A Sort Of Lunatic Giant; Impossible Socially, But Full Scale; And It's The Knockings And Battering We Sometimes Hear In Each Other That Keep Our Banter From Utter Banality.