A man is not expected to love his country, lest he make an ass of himself. Yet our country, seen through the mists of smog, is curiously lovable, in somewhat the way an individual who has got himself into an unconscionable scrape seems lovable - or at least deserving of support.

Humour plays close to the big, hot fire, which is the truth, and the reader feels the heat.

Advice from this elderly practitioner is to forget publishers and just roll a sheet of copy paper into your machine and get lost in your subject.

There's no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another.

We stand or fall by television.

To perceive Christmas through its wrappings becomes more difficult with every year.

Loneliness is a strange gift.