Cruelty Is The Only Sin.

For Me, The Novel Is Experience Illumined By Imagination.

My First Reading Of Tolstoy Affected Me As A Revelation From Heaven, As The Trumpet Of The Judgment. What He Made Me Feel Was Notthe Desire To Imitate, But The Conviction That Imitation Was Futile.

But Youth Isn't Happy. Youth Is Sadder Than Age.

Irony Is An Indispensable Ingredient Of The Critical Vision; It Is The Safest Antidote To Sentimental Decay.

Insolent Youth Rides, Now, In The Whirlwind. For Those Modern Iconoclasts Who Are Without Culture Possess, Apparently, All The Courage.