Malcolm Bradbury made the point, and I don't know whether it's a valid one or not, that the real English at the moment is not the English spoken in England or in America or even in Canada or Australia or New Zealand. The real English is the English which is a second language, so that it's rather like Latin in the days of the Roman Empire when people had their own languages, but had Latin in order to communicate.

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

We have a disharmony in our natures. We cannot live together without injuring each other.

No human endeavour can ever be wholly good... it must always have a cost.

Percival was mouse-coloured and had not been very attractive even to his mother.

Maybe there is a beast… maybe it's only us.

We're not savages. We're English.