Referring back to my post about luck taking a role in becoming a writer, I found this lovely section of Christopher Isherwood’s A Single Man the other day:
“George is like a man trying to sell a real diamond for a nickel, on the street. The diamond is protected from all but the tiniest few, because the great hurrying majority can never stop to dare to believe that it could conceivably be real.”
A Single Man, Isherwood, C., (1964), p33
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