My Occupational Hazard Is That I Can't

In Moments Of Despair, We Look On Ourselves Lead-enly As Objects; We See Ourselves, Our Lives, As Someone Else Might See Them And May Even Be Driven To Kill Ourselves If The Separation, The "knowledge," Seems Sufficiently Final.

Who Are The Advertising Men Kidding, Besides The European Tourist? Between The Tired, Sad, Gentle Faces Of The Subway Riders And The Grinning Holy Families Of The Ad-mass, There Exists No Possibility Of Even A Wishful Identification.

A Society Person Who Is Enthusiastic About Modern Painting Or Truman Capote Is Already Half A Traitor To His Class. It Is Middle-class People Who, Quite Mistakenly, Imagine That A Lively Pursuit Of The Latest In Reading And Painting Will Advance Their Status In The World.

The Idea Of Macbeth As A Conscience-torm Ented Man Is A Platitude As False As Macbeth Himself. Macbeth Has No Conscience. His Main Concern Throughout The Play Is That Most Selfish Of All Concerns: To Get A Good Night's Sleep.

Love Of Truth, Ordinary Common Truth Recognizable To Everyone, Is The Ruling Passion Of The Novel.