There is no test of literary merit except survival, which is itself an index to majority opinion.

To survive it is often necessary to fight and to fight you have to dirty yourself.

Even through the shut window pane, the world looked cold.

In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people - the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me.

But the thing that I saw in your face no power can disinherit: No bomb that ever burst shatters the crystal spirit.

But the thought of being a lunatic did not greatly trouble him; the horror was that he might also be wrong.

To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air available.