My Father Was Very Outwardly

The Best Of Life Is Life Lived Quietly, Where Nothing Happens But Our Calm Journey Through The Day, Where Change Is Imperceptible And The Precious Life Is Everything.

When I Was In My 20s It Did Occur To Me That There Was Something Perverted About An Attitude That Thought That Killing Somebody Was A Minor Offence Compared To Kissing Somebody.

I Used To Take Five Or Six Books Away And Bring Five Or Six Books Back. Nobody Gave Me Direction Or Advice And I Read Much In The Way That A Boy Might Watch Television.

I Think That Each Of Us Inhabits A Private World That Others Cannot See. The Only Difference Between The Writer And The Reader Is That The Writer Is Able To Dramatise That Private World.

...with A Rush Of Feeling He Felt That This Must Be Happiness. As Soon As The Thought Came To Him, He Fought It Back, Blaming The Whiskey. The Very Idea Was As Dangerous As Presumptive Speech: Happiness Could Not Be Sought Or Worried Into Being, Or Even Fully Grasped; It Should Be Allowed Its Own Slow Pace So That It Passes Unnoticed, If It Ever Comes At All.