... A CLOCKWORK ORANGE- and I said: 'That's a fair gloopy title. Who ever heard of a clockwork orange?' Then I read a malenky bit out loud in a sort of very high type preaching goloss: '- The attempt to impose upon a man, a creature of growth and capable of sweetness, to ooze juicily at the last round the bearded lips of God, to attempt to impose, I say, laws and conditions appropriate to a mechanical creation, against this I raise my swordpen-

I think art is sublimated libido. You can’t be a eunuch priest, and you can’t be a eunuch artist.

Life is a wretched gray Saturday, but it has to be lived through.

The practice of fiction can be dangerous: it puts ideas into the head of the world.

The possession of a book becomes a substitute for reading it.

Death comes along like a gas bill one can't pay.

He said it was artificial respiration, but now I find I am to have his child.