The Trouble Began With Forster. After Him

This Truth May Be Handled Either Sinfully Or Profitably; Sinfully As When It Is Treated On Only To Satisfy Curiosity, And To Keep Up A Mere Barren Speculative Dispute.... This Point Of Election... Is Not To Be Agitated In A Verbal And Contentious Way, But In A Saving Way, To Make Us Tremble And To Set Us Upon A More Diligent And Close Striving With God In Prayer, And All Other Duties.

Novelists Are Perhaps The Last People In The World To Be Entrusted With Opinions. The Nature Of A Novel Is That It Has No Opinions, Only The Dialectic Of Contrary Views, Some Of Which, All Of Which, May Be Untenable And Even Silly. A Novelist Should Not Be Too Intelligent Either, Although He May Be Permitted To Be An Intellectual.

All Art Preserves Mysteries Which Aesthetic Philosophers Tackle In Vain.

But Where I Itty Now, O My Brothers, Is All On My Oddy Knocky, Where You Cannot Go. Tomorrow Is All Like Sweet Flowers And The Turning Vonny Earth And The Stars And The Old Luna Up There. ... And All That Cal.

And, My Brothers, It Was Real Satisfaction To Me To Waltz-left Two Three, Right Two Three-and Carve Left Cheeky And Right Cheeky, So That Like Two Curtains Of Blood Seemed To Pour Out At The Same Time, One On Either Side Of His Fat Filthy Oily Snout In The Winter Starlight.