Isn't it true that every aristocrat wants to die?

Don't forget the earth's about five thousand million years old, at least. Who can afford to live in the past?

When you lead a life of scholarship you can't be bothered with the humorous realities, you know, tits, that kind of thing.

One way of looking at speech is to say it is a constant stratagem to cover nakedness.

I mean, if a thing works, if a thing is right, respect that, acknowledge it, respect it and hold to it.

A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection - unless you lie - in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.

This particular nurse said, Cancer cells are those which have forgotten how to die. I was so struck by this statement.