Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.

I also know Patrick White in Australia, both personally and as a writer, and Salman Rushdie in India.

The novel is very much alive, indeed. In Toronto at the Sixth Annual International Festival of Authors (October 1985) I listened to novelists by the dozen.

The water rose further and dressed Simon's coarse hair with brightness. The line of his cheek silvered and the turn of his shoulder became sculptured marble.

But forgiveness must not only be given but received also.

The mask was a thing on it's own, behind which Jack hid, liberated from shame and self-conciousness.

Sleep is when all the unsorted stuff comes flying out as from a dustbin upset in a high wind.