Old age makes caricatures of us all.

Don't just plan to write - write. It is only by writing, not dreaming about it, that we develop our own style.

The weekend break had begun with the usual resentment and had continued with half-repressed ill humour. It was, of course, his fault. He had been more ready to hurt his wife's feelings and deprive his daughter than inconvenience a pub bar full of strangers. He wished there could be one memory of his dead child which wasn't tainted with guilt and regret.

I don't want anyone to look to me, not for protection, not for happiness, not for love, not for anything.

Man is diminished if he lives without knowledge of his past; without hope of a future he becomes a beast.

Early this morning, 1 January 2021, three minutes after midnight, the last human being to be born on earth was killed in a pub brawl in a suburb of Buenos Aires, aged twenty-five years, two months and twelve days.

We live in a society which salves its conscience more by helping the interestingly unfortunate than the dull deserving.