The literary critic, or the critic of any other specific form of artistic expression, may detach himself from the world for as long as the work of art he is contemplating appears to do the same.

Even in moments of tranquility, Murray Walker sounds like a man whose trousers are on fire.

Here was my first lesson on the resolutely maintained untidiness and ill-health of the English upper orders. In baggy evening dress and old before their time, they displayed gapped and tangled teeth in loosely open mouths. Gently shedding dandruff, they lurched across the lawn. When they stood at the bar they looked like Lee Trevino Putting.

As a work of art, it reminds me of a long conversation between two drunks

You can't be young always. The day will come when everything will fall apart.

Ban poetry. And make sure that anyone caught reading it is expelled from school. Then it will acquire the glamour.

My niece is - her name is Sasha, is currently learning Russian at Melbourne University and I look forward to the day when I can talk to her about Pushkin.