If he can only perform good or only perform evil, then he is a clockwork orange—meaning that he has the appearance of an organism lovely with colour and juice but is in fact only a clockwork toy to be wound up by God or the Devil.

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.

Blessed tree and blessed birds, that were to be neither saved nor damned.

And to all others in this story profound shooms of lip music brrrrrr. And they can kiss my sharries.

Ignorance and poverty are the best condiments for the great feast of the world, but the inexperienced and poor are never invited to it.

But don't think that it's a system or a culture or a state or a person that does the letting down. It's our expectations that let us down. It begins in the warmth of the womb and the discovery that it's cold outside. But it's not the cold's fault that it's cold.

A work of fiction should be, for its author, a journey into the unknown, and the prose should convey the difficulties of the journey.