He Was Not Only A Bore; He

The Genius Of Man In Our Time Has Gone Into Jet-propulsion, Atom-splitting, Penicillin-curing, Etc. There Is None Left Over For Works Of Imagination; Of Spiritual Insight Or Mystical Enlightenment.

In The Beginning Was The Lie And The Lie Was Made News And Dwelt Among Us, Graceless And False.

In The Cycle Of A Great Civilization, The Artist Begins As Priest, And Ends As A Clown Or Buffoon.

Writers Like Aldous Huxley And George Orwell Have Imagined The Sort Of Scientific Utopia Which Is Coming To Pass, But Already Their Nightmare Fancies Are Hopelessly Out Of Date. A Vast, Air-conditioned, Neon-lighted, Glass-and-chromium Broiler-house Begins To Take Shape, In Which Geneticists Select The Best Stocks To Fertilise, And Watch Over The Developing Embryo To Ensure That All Possibilities Of Error And Distortion Are Eliminated.

One Of The Many Pleasures Of Old Age Is Giving Things Up.