He spoke about Africa in an unusual way. He spoke of Africa as though Africa was a sick child and he was the parent. - V. S. Naipaul

Non-fiction can distort; facts can be realigned. But fiction never lies.

Before comfort had been squeezed out of the hard land, like blood out of stone.

The medieval mind, which saw only continuity, seemed so unassailable. It existed in a world which, with all its ups and downs, remained harmoniously ordered and could be taken for granted. It had not developed a sense of history, which is a sense of loss; it had developed no true sense of beauty, which is a gift of assessment. While it was enclosed, this made it secure. Exposed, its world became a fairyland, exceedingly fragile. It was one step from the Kashmiri devotional songs to the commercial jingles of Radio Ceylon; it was one step from the roses of Kashmir to a potful of plasticdaisies.