Perhaps That Suspicion Of Fraud Enhances The

I'd Rather Be In Trouble For Having Done Something Than For Not Having Done Anything.

When I Die There May Be A Paragraph Or Two In The Newspapers. My Name Will Linger In The British Museum Reading Room Catalogue For A Space At The Head Of A Long List Of Books For Which No One Will Ever Ask.

I Have Heard Of Novels Started In The Middle, At The End, Written In Patches To Be Joined Together Later, But I Have Never Felt The Slightest Desire To Do This.

The Work Is With Me When I Wake Up In The Morning; It Is With Me While I Eat My Breakfast In Bed And Run Through The Newspaper, While I Shave And Bathe And Dress.

A Whim, A Passing Mood, Readily Induces The Novelist To Move Hearth And Home Elsewhere. He Can Always Plead Work As An Excuse To Get Him Out Of The Clutches Of Bothersome Hosts.