One of the delights known to age, and beyond the grasp of youth, is that of Not Going.

Those no-sooner-have-I-touched-the-pillow people are past my comprehension. There is something bovine about them.

Marriage is like paying an endless visit in your worst clothes.

One of the delights known to age, and beyond the grasp of youth, is that of Not Going.

In plain words: now that Britain has told the world that she has the H-Bomb she should announce as early as possible that she has done with it, that she proposes to reject in all circumstances nuclear warfare.

Western man is schizophrenic.

But the point is, now, at this moment, or any moment, we're only cross-sections of our real selves. What we really are is the whole stretch of ourselves, all our time, and when we come to the end of this life, all those selves, all our time, will be us - the real you, the real me. And then perhaps we'll find ourselves in another time, which is only another kind of dream.