I hold a beast, an angel and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, downthrow and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression.
Whatever talents I possess may suddenly diminish or suddenly increase. I can with ease become an ordinary fool. I may be one now. But it doesn't do to upset one's own vanity.
A born writer is born scrofulous; his career is an accident dictated by physical or circumstantial disabilities.
I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.
