Nothing is more sterile or lamentable than the man content to live within himself.

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.

I believe the US is a truly monstrous force in the world, now off the leash for obvious reasons.

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

It was difficult being a conscientious objector in the 1940's, but I felt I had to stick to my guns.

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

Clinton's hands remain incredibly clean, don't they, and Tony Blair's smile remains as wide as ever. I view these guises with profound contempt.