Sweet Are The Thoughts That Savor Of

Life Would Go Out In A 'fraction Of A Second' (that Was The Phrase), But All Night He Had Been Realizing That Time Depends On Clocks And The Passage Of Light. There Were No Clocks And The Light Wouldn't Change. Nobody Really Knew How Long A Second Of Pain Could Be. It Might Last A Whole Purgatory--or For Ever.

He Felt The Loyalty We Feel To Unhappiness - The Sense That Is Where We Really Belong.

No Building Was Safe From The Furniture, The Pictures, The Human Beings That It Would Presently Contain.

Self-expression Is A Hard And Selfish Thing. It Eats Everything, Even The Self. At The End You Find You Haven't Even Got A Self To Express.

The Great Advantage Of Being A Writer Is That You Can Spy On People. You're There, Listening To Every Word, But Part Of You Is Observing. Everything Is Useful To A Writer, You See - Every Scrap, Even The Longest And Most Boring Of Luncheon Parties.