Writers Are Rarely Their Own Best Critics,

If You Want To Be Considered A Poet, You Will Have To Show Mastery Of The Petrarchan Sonnet Form Or The Sestina. Your Musical Efforts Must Begin With Well-formed Fugues. There Is No Substitute For Craft... Art Begins With Craft, And There Is No Art Until Craft Has Been Mastered.

But Where I Itty Now, O My Brothers, Is All On My Oddy Knocky, Where You Cannot Go. Tomorrow Is All Like Sweet Flowers And The Turning Vonny Earth And The Stars And The Old Luna Up There. ... And All That Cal.

It Seems Priggish Or Pollyannaish To Deny That My Intention In Writing The Work Was To Titillate The Nastier Propensities Of My Readers. My Own Healthy Inheritance Of Original Sin Comes Out In The Book And I Enjoyed Raping And Ripping By Proxy. It Is The Novelist’s Innate Cowardice That Makes Him Depute To Imaginary Personalities The Sins That He Is Too Cautious To Commit For Himself.

Without Class Differences, England Would Cease To Be The Living Theatre It Is.

Writers Are Rarely Their Own Best Critics, Nor Are Critics.