What are we? Humans? Or animals? Or savages?

Honestly, I haven't the time to read contemporary writers. I know this is awful, but in the main it is true.

He became absorbed beyond mere happiness as he felt himself exercising control over living things. He talked to them, urging them, ordering them. Driven back by the tide, his footprints became bays in which they were trapped and gave him the illusion of mastery.

For a small island [Great Britain], the place is remarkably diverse.

Only one novel is a novel: that is a successful novel.

A crowd of grade-three thinkers, all shouting the same thing, all warming their hands at the fire of their own prejudices, will not thank you for pointing out the contradictions in their beliefs. Man is a gregarious animal, and enjoys agreement as cows will graze all the same way on the side of a hill.

Simon became inarticulate in his effort to express mankind's essential illness.