Have you noticed how just trying to impose any sort of chronology on events makes it seem as though a lot of time has been occupied?

The chef who cooks without a song on his lips cannot hope to infuse the right carefree improvisatory note into his art.

Sometimes in the company of others I find a disagreeable spirit of competitiveness kicks in and each person is shamed into spending rather more than he would have wished. This is a historically established syndrome, of course. One Magus going to Bethlehem would probably have sprung for a box of After Eights. Three Magi on the same trip found themselves laden with gold, frankincense and myrrh and bitterly comtemplating their overdrafts.

I was simultaneously elated and depressed, a common enough state of mind these days when people are offered a great deal of money to do something repugnant.

I also wish I'd been born with a clearly defined talent for something, or else stupid.