Maybe half a dozen think they are a community, but, in general terms, I think English writers tend to face outwards, away from each other, and write in their own patch, as it were.

I play the piano passionately and inaccurately. Indeed, I worked out the other day that of my seventy-five years; I have spent at least one year sitting on a piano stool.

Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.

If faces were different when lit from above or below -- what was a face? What was anything?

Ralph... would treat the day's decisions as though he were playing chess. The only trouble was that he would never be a very good chess player.

People don't help much.

Maybe half a dozen think they are a community, but, in general terms, I think English writers tend to face outwards, away from each other, and write in their own patch, as it were.