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The 21st chapter was printed in the original 1962 edition in the
UK. This was part of Burgess's plan, as the book was divided into three parts,
seven chapters each, ending with 21 or the age a boy becomes a man. (Back then,
now it is 18). Norton publishers in the USA didn't like it and wouldn't publish
the book unless Burgess dropped it, so he reluctantly agreed. Therefore from 1963
until the books' 25th anniversary in 1987 the chapter didn't exist in the US.
Believe it or not it was first exclusively published with the Resucked
Introduction in Rolling Stone Magazine #496 on 3/26/87, pgs 74-80, featuring The
Bangles on the cover. Later that year it was restored to all US paperback
In the UK & Australia after the movie was released the paperback was switched to follow the movie and was scaled back to 20 chapters. After Burgess' death it was once again restored so in 1994 all books in the UK had the 21st chapter again. When Kubrick was writing the screenplay he eventually became aware of the 21st chapter and didn't like it. After he showed the film to Burgess he lied and said he didn't know about the chapter as he went from the text of the the American edition. Burgess was furious at his publisher, but later was extremely resentful of Kubrick when he found out the truth.
Stone #496 Cover
Rolling Stone article titling by Jay Vigon
Rolling Stone article photograph by Matthew Rolston
'What's it going to be then, eh?'
There was me, Your Humble Narrator, and my three droogs, that is Len, Rick, and Bully, Bully being called Bully because of his bolshy big neck and very gromky goloss which was just like some bolshy great bull bellowing auuuuuuuuh. We were sitting in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry. All round were chellovecks well away on milk plus vellocet and synthemesc and drencrom and other veshches which take you far far far away from this wicked and real world into the land to viddy Bog And All His Holy Angels And Saints in your left sabog with lights bursting and spurting all over your mozg. What we were peeting was the old moloko with knives in it, as we used to say, to sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of dirty twenty-to-one, but I've told you all that before.
We were dressed in the heighth of fashion, which in those days was these very wide trousers and a very loose black shiny leather like jerkin over an open-necked shirt with a like scarf tucked in. At this time too it was the heighth of fashion to use the old britva on the gulliver, so that most of the gulliver was like bald and there was hair only on the sides. But it was always the same on the old nogas - real horrorshow bolshy big boots for kicking litsos it.
'What's it going to be then, eh?'
I was like the oldest of we four, and they all looked up to me as their leader, but I got the idea sometimes that Bully had the thought in his gulliver that he would like to take over, this being because of his gibness and the gromky goloss that bellowed out of him when he was on the warpath. But all the ideas came from Your Humble, O my brothers, and also there was the veshch that I had been famous and had had my picture and articles and all that cal in the gazettas. Also I had by far the best job of all we four, being in the National Gramodisc Archives on the music side with a real horrorshow carman full of pretty polly at the week's end and a lot of nice free discs for my own malenky self on the side.
This evening in the Korova there was a fair number of vecks and ptitsas and devotchkas and malchicks smecking and peeting away, and cutting through their govoreeting and the burbling of the in-the-landers with their 'Gorgor fallatuke and the worm sprays in filltip slaughterballs' and all that cal you could slooshy a popdisc on the stereo, this being Ned Achimota singing 'That Day, Yeah, That Day'. At the counter were three devotchkas dressed in the heighth of nadsat fashion, that is to say long uncombed hair dyed white and false groodies sticking out a metre or more and very very tight short skirts with all like frothy white underneath, and Bully kept saying: 'Hey, get in there we could, three of us. Old Len is not like interested. Leave old Len alone with his God.' And Len kept saying: 'Yarbles yarbles. Where is the spirit of all for one and one for all, eh boy?' Suddenly I felt both very very tired and also full of tingly energy, and I said:
'Out out out out out.'
'Where to?' said Rick, who had a litso like a frog's.
'Oh, just to viddy what's doing in the great outside,' I said. But somehow, my brothers, I felt very bored and a bit hopeless, and I had been feeling that a lot these days. So I turned to the chelloveck nearest me on the big plush seat that ran right round the whole mesto, a chelloveck, that is, who was burbling away under the influence, and I fisted him real skorry ack ack ack in the belly. But he felt it not, brothers, only burbling away with his 'Cart cart virtue, where in toptails lieth the poppoppicorns?' So we scatted out into the big winter nochy.
We walked down Marghanita Boulevard and there were no millicents patrolling that way, so when we met a starry veck coming away from a news-kiosk where he had been kupetting a gazetta I said to Bully: 'All right, Bully boy, thou canst if thou like wishest.' More and more these days I had been just giving the orders and standing back to viddy them being carried out. So Bully cracked into him er er er, and the other two tripped him and kicked at him, smecking away, while he was down and then let him crawl off to where he lived, like simpering to himself. Bully said:
'How about a nice yummy glass of something to keep out the cold, O Alex?' For we were not too far from the Duke of New York. The other two nodded yes yes yes but all looked at me to viddy whether that was all right. I nodded too and so off we ittied. Inside the snug there were these starry ptitsas or sharps or baboochkas you will remember from the beginning and they all started on their: 'Evening, lads, God bless you, boys, best lads living, that's what you are,' waiting for us to say: 'What's it going to be, girls?' Bully rang the collocoll and a waiter came in rubbing his rookers on his grazzy apron. 'Cutter on the table, droogies,' said Bully, pulling out his own rattling and chinking mound of deng. 'Scotchmen for us and the same for the old baboochkas, eh?' And then I said:
'Ah, to hell. Let them buy their own.' I didn't know what it was, but these last days I had become like mean. There had come into my gulliver a like desire to keep all my pretty polly to myself, to like hoard it all up for some reason. Bully said:
'What gives, bratty? What's coming over old Alex?'
'Ah, to hell,' I said. 'I don't know. I don't know. What it is is I don't like just throwing away my hard-earned pretty polly, that's what it is.'
'Earned?' said Rick. 'Earned? It doesn't have to be earned, as well thou knowest, old droogie. Took, that's all, just took, like.' And he smecked real gromky and I viddied one or two of his zoobies weren't all that horrorshow.
'Ah,' I said, 'I've got some thinking to do.' But viddying these baboochkas looking all eager like for some free alc, I like shrugged my pletchoes and pulled out my own cutter from my trouser carman, notes and coin all mixed together, and plonked it tinkle crackle on the table.
'Scotchmen all round, right,' said the waiter. But for some reason I said:
'No, boy, for me make it one small beer, right.' Len said:
'This I do not much go for,' and he began to put his rooker on my gulliver, like kidding I must have fever, but I like snarled doggy-wise for him to give over skorry. 'All right, all right, droog,' he said. 'As thou like sayest.' But Bully was having a smot with his rot open at something that had come out of my carman with the pretty polly I'd put on the table. He said:
'Well well well. And we never knew.'
'Give me that,' I snarled and grabbed it skorry. I couldn't explain how it had got there, brothers, but it was a photograph I had scissored out of the old gazetta and it was of a baby. It was of a baby gurgling goo goo goo with all like moloko dribbling from its rot and looking up and like smecking at everybody, and it was all nagoy and its flesh was like in all folds with being a very fat baby. There was then like a bit of haw haw haw struggling to get hold of this bit of paper from me, so I had to snarl again at them and I grabbed the photo and tore it up into tiny teeny pieces and let it fall like a bit of snow on to the floor. The whisky came in then and the starry baboochkas said: 'Good health, lads, God bless you, boys, the best lads living, that's what you are,' and all that cal. And one of them who was all lines and wrinkles and no zoobies in her shrunken old rot said: 'Don't tear up money, son. If you don't need it give it them as does,' which was very bold and forward of her. But Rick said:
'Money that was not, O baboochka. It was a picture of a dear little itsy witsy bitsy bit of a baby.' I said:
'I'm getting just that bit tired, that I am. It's you who's the babies, you lot. Scoffing and grinning and all you can do is smeck and give people bolshy cowardly tolchocks when they can't give them back.' Bully said:
'Well now, we always thought it was you who was the king of that and also the teacher. Not well, that's the trouble with thou, old droogie.'
I viddied this sloppy glass of beer I had on the table in front of me and felt like all vomity within, so I went 'Aaaaah' and poured all the frothy vonny cal all over the floor. One of the starry pitsas said:
'Waste not want not.' I said:
'Look, droogies. Listen. Tonight I am somehow just not in the mood. I know not why or how it is, but there it is. You three go your own ways this nightwise, leaving me out. Tomorrow we shall meet same place same time, me hoping to be like a lot better.'
'Oh,' said Bully, 'right sorry I am.' But you could viddy a like gleam in his glazzies, because now he would be taking over for this nochy. Power power, everybody like wants power. 'We can postpone till tomorrow,' said Bully, 'what we in mind had. Namely, that bit of shop-crasting in Gagarin Street. Flip horrorshow takings there, droog, for the having.'
'No,' I said. 'You postpone nothing. You just carry on in your own like style. Now,' I said, 'I itty off.' And I got up from my chair.
'Where to, then?' asked Rick.
'That know I not,' I said. 'Just to be on like my own and sort things out.' You could viddy the old baboochkas were real puzzled at me going out like that and like all morose and not the bright and smecking malchickiwick you will remember. But I said: 'Ah, to hell, to hell,' and scatted out all on my oddy knocky into the street.
It was dark and there was a wind sharp as a nozh getting up, and there were very very few lewdies about. There were these patrol cars with brutal rozzes inside them like cruising about, and now and then on the corner you would viddy a couple of very young millicents stamping against the bitchy cold and letting out steam breath on the winter air, O my brothers. I suppose really a lot of the old ultra-violence and crasting was dying out now, the rozzes being so brutal with who they caught, though it had become like a fight between naughty nadsats and the rozzes who could be more skorry with the nozh and the britva and the stick and even the gun. But what was the matter with me these days was that I didn't like care much. It was like something soft getting into me and I could not pony why. What I wanted these days I did not know. Even the music I liked to slooshy in my own malenky den was what I would have smecked at before, brothers. I was slooshying more like malenky romantic songs, what they call Lieder, just a goloss and a piano, very quiet and like yearny, different from when it had been all bolshy orchestras and me lying on the bed between the violins and the trombones and kettledrums. There was something happening inside me, and I wondered if it was like some disease or if it was what they had done to me that time upsetting my gulliver and perhaps going to make me real bezoomny.
So thinking like this with my gulliver bent and my rookers stuck in my trouser carmans I walked the town, brothers, and at last I began to feel very tired and also in great need of a nice bolshy chasha of milky chai. Thinking about this chai, I got a sudden like picture of me sitting before a bolshy fire in an armchair peeting away at this chai, and what was funny and very very strange was that I seemed to have turned into a very starry chelloveck, about seventy years old, because I could viddy my own voloss, which was very grey, and I also had whiskers, and these were very grey too. I could viddy myself as an old man, sitting by a fire, and then the like picture vanished. But it was very like strange.
I came to one of these tea-and-coffee mestos, brothers, and I could viddy through the long long window that it was full of very dull lewdies, like ordinary, who had these very patient and expressionless litsos and would do no harm to no one, all sitting there and govoreeting like quietly and peeting away at their nice harmless chai and coffee. I ittied inside and went up to the counter and bought me a nice hot chai with plenty of moloko, then I ittied to one of these tables and sat down to peet it. There was a like young couple at this table, peeting and smoking filter-tip cancers, and govoreeting and smecking very quietly between themselves, but I took no notice of them and just went on peeting away and like dreaming and wondering what was going to happen to me. But I viddied that the devotchka at this table who was with this chelloveck was real horrorshow, not the sort you would want to like throw down and give the old in-out in-out to, but with a horrorshow plott and litso and a smiling rot and very very fair voloss and all that cal. And then the veck with her, who had a hat on his gulliver and had his litso like turned away from me, swivelled round to viddy the boshy big clock they had on the wall in this mesto, and then I viddied who he was and then he viddied who I was. It was Pete, one of my three droogs from those days when it was Georgie and Dim and him and me. It was Pete like looking older though he could not now be more than nineteen and a bit, and he had a bit of a moustache and an ordinary day-suit and this hat on. I said:
'Well well well, droogie, what gives? Very very long time no viddy.' He said:
'It's little Alex, isn't it?'
'None other,' I said. 'A long long long time since those dead and gone good days. And now poor Georgie, they told me, is underground and old Dim is a brutal millicent, and here is thou and here is I, and what news hast thou, old droogie?'
'He talks funny, doesn't he?' said the devotchka, like giggling.
'This,' said Pete to the devotchka, 'is an old friend. His name is Alex. May I,' he said to me, 'introduce my wife?'
My rot fell wide open then. 'Wife?' I like gasped. 'Wife wife wife? Ah no, that cannot be. Too young art thou to be married, old droog. Impossible impossible.'
This devotchka who was like Pete's wife (impossible impossible) giggled again and said to Pete: 'Did you used to talk like that too?'
'Well,' said Pete, and he like smiled. 'I'm nearly twenty. Old enough to be hitched, and it's been two months already. You were very young and very forward, remember.'
'Well,' I like gaped still. 'Over this get can I not, old droogie. Pete married. Well well well.'
'We have a small flat,' said Pete. 'I am earning very small money at State Marine Insurance, but things will get better, that I know. And Georgina here-'
'What again is that name?' I said, rot still open like bezoomny. Pete's wife (wife, brothers) like giggled again.
'Georgina,' said Pete. 'Georgina works too. Typing, you know. We manage, we manage.' I could not, brothers, take my glazzies off him, really. He was like grown up now, with a grown-up goloss and all. 'You must,' said Pete, 'come and see us sometime. You still,' he said, 'look very young, despite all your terrible experiences. Yes yes yes, we've read all about them. But, of course, you are very young still.'
'Eighteen,' I said, 'just gone.'
'Eighteen, eh?' said Pete. 'As old as that. Well well well. Now,' he said, 'we have to be going.' And he like gave this Georgina of his a like loving look and pressed one of her rookers between his and she gave him one of these looks back, O my brothers. 'Yes,' said Pete, turning back to me, 'we're off to a little party at Greg's.'
'Greg?' I said.
'Oh, of course,' said Pete, 'you wouldn't know Greg, would you? Greg is after your time. While you were away Greg came into the picture. He runs little parties, you know. Mostly wine-cup and word-games. But very nice, very pleasant, you know. Harmless, if you see what I mean.'
'Yes,' I said. 'Harmless. Yes yes, I viddy that real horrorshow.' And this Georgina devotchka giggled again at my slovos. And then these two ittied off to their vonny word-games at this Greg's, whoever he was. I was left all on my oddy knocky with my milky chai, which was getting cold now, like thinking and wondering.
Perhaps that was it, I kept thinking. Perhaps I was getting too old for the sort of jeezny I had been leading, brothers. I was eighteen now, just gone. Eighteen was not a young age. At eighteen old Wolfgang Amadeus had written concertos and symphonies and operas and oratorios and all that cal, no, not cal, heavenly music. And then there was old Felix M. with his Midsummer Night's Dream Overture. And there were others. And there was this like French poet set by old Benjy Britt, who had done all his best poetry by the age of fifteen, O my brothers. Arthur, his first name. Eighteen was not all that young an age, then. But what was I going to do?
Walking the dark chill bastards of winter streets after ittying off from this chai and coffee mesto, I kept viddying like visions, like these cartoons in the gazettas. There was Your Humble Narrator Alex coming home from work to a good hot plate of dinner, and there was this ptitsa all welcoming and greeting like loving. But I could not viddy her all that horrorshow, brothers, I could not think who it might be. But I had this sudden very strong idea that if I walked into the room next to this room where the fire was burning away and my hot dinner laid on the table, there I should find what I really wanted, and now it all tied up, that picture scissored out of the gazetta and meeting old Pete like that. For in that other room in a cot was laying gurgling goo goo goo my son. Yes yes yes, brothers, my son. And now I felt this bolshy big hollow inside my plott, feeling very surprised too at myself. I knew what was happening, O my brothers. I was like growing up.
Yes yes yes, there it was. Youth must go, ah yes. But youth is only being in a way like it might be an animal. No, it is not just being an animal so much as being like one of these malenky toys you viddy being sold in the streets, like little chellovecks made out of tin and with a spring inside and then a winding handle on the outside and you wind it up grrr grrr grrr and off ititties, like walking, O my brothers. But it itties in a straight line and bangs straight into things bang bang and it cannot help what it is doing. Being young is like being like one of these malenky machines.
My son, my son. When I had my son I would explain all that to him when he was starry enough to like understand. But then I knew he would not understand or would not want to understand at all and would do all the veshches I had done, yes perhaps even killing some poor starry forella surrounded with mewing kots and koshkas, and I would not be able to really stop him. And nor would he be able to stop his own son, brothers. And so it would itty on to like the end of the world, round and round and round, like some bolshy gigantic like chelloveck, like old Bog Himself (by courtesy of Korova Milkbar) turning and turning and turning a vonny grahzny orange in his gigantic rookers.
But first of all, brothers, there was this veshch of finding some devotchka or other who would be a mother to this son. I would have to start on that tomorrow, I kept thinking. That was something like new to do. That was something I would have to get started on, a new like chapter beginning.
That's what it's going to be then, brothers, as I come to the like end of this tale. You have been everywhere with your little droog Alex, suffering with him, and you have viddied some of the most grahzny bratchnies old Bog ever made, all on to your old droog Alex. And all it was was that I was young. But now as I end this story, brothers, I am not young, not no longer, oh no. Alex like groweth up, oh yes.
But where I itty now, O my brothers, is all on my oddy knocky, where you cannot go. Tomorrow is all like sweet flowers and the turning vonny earth and the stars and the old Luna up there and your old droog Alex all on his oddy knocky seeking like a mate. And all that cal. A terrible grahzny vonny world, really, O my brothers. And so farewell from your little droog. And to all others in this story profound shooms of lip-music brrrrrr. And they can kiss my sharries. But you, O my brothers, remember sometimes thy little Alex that was. Amen. And all that cal.
Alex is back to where he started the story in Chapter 1 in the Korova. Only the names of his droogs have changed to Len, Rick and Bully. Bully is looking to take over acting like Georgie. Alex is still in charge, but now because he is older and famous. Their hairstyles and clothes are also a bit different as it is years later and times change, but youth will always be the same. The first thing we are struck by though is Alex has a job. This shows responsibility. In the beginning Alex initiated the violence, now he is content for Bully to take the lead because it no longer holds interest for him. Now that he is earning money, he doesn't want to waste it, especially on drink for others like he used to in the beginning. He is becoming mean and doesn't know why. He is bored and depressed with his life. The days of gang fights and ultra-violence are gone, the police have become so brutal with the nadsats that it has stopped. He is content to just watch and not get involved and mocks his droogs for attacking the weak. He is still concerned about his appearance and notes that Rick's teeth are gross. He doesn't want hard liquor and doesn't want to explain to his droogs why he's changed, because he isn't sure himself. When he pulls out his money a picture of a baby falls out and his droogs mock him. He isn't even sure at first why he has it, then dumps his beer on the floor. He isn't in the mood anymore. He accuses his droogs of acting like children and leaves them to do whatever they want, promising to catch up with them tomorrow when he is feeling better. His taste in music has also changed to more romantic songs instead of big orchestral ones. He wants to be alone with his thoughts and thinks maybe he is sick or it is something to do with the treatment. He wants a cup of tea and feels older, even seeing himself as an old man. He sits in this place full of older people and notices an attractive woman who he'd like to be with, not rape or have dirty sex with. It turns out she's Pete's wife. He is now 20 and settled into a new way of life with his wife, new friends, drinking wine, word parties and such. Pete's wife Georgina laughs at the way Alex talks and can't believe Pete used to talk that way too. Alex realizes he is growing up and dreams of being older and having a son. He talks of a wind up toy with a coiled spring that represents pent up youthful energy. When the toy is released it hits into the wall over and over like a directionless youth. Growing up equals having direction. He imagines himself as a father telling this to his son, knowing he will not listen and his son will not listen to him, such is life and on and on it will go until the end of time. He won't be able to stop him and he might kill someone too. Alex wants a girlfriend, life goes on and he is still alone. He'll start looking for her tomorrow by himself and we can't follow. The story is over, remember Alex that was, not what will be.
...or why I love the 21st chapter.
I am asked about my thoughts on the 21st
chapter quite often. In fact when I do interviews I always ask the person's
opinion on it. To me, a perfect world would be all the books would have the 21st
chapter since day one and Kubrick would've filmed it for his movie. Then there
wouldn't be any controversy. Unfortunately that isn't the case. It seems if you
took all the ACO fans and put them together there would be a big love/hate
relationship with the 21st chapter. It would divide the room, because in my
experience, most people don't like it. This really baffles me.
I understand that people who love the movie say "No 21st chapter there, so I don't like it." This is OK and it works, but it would've been even better if it was there. One needs to take the book and film as separate entities and therefore as long as you have the complete novel, you should embrace the "other" version. Embrace it because there is more to it, it goes beyond the film and it is the source.
Here's why I think the 21st chapter is the perfect ending to the story. We ALL have to grow up sometime. For some it is much later than others. We can't go on behaving as teenagers forever. If have passed those years, think back how they were. For most of us...you live at home, you have no job, no source of income, no real privacy. You probably don't get along with at least one of your parents, so you feel alienated. You don't know what you want to do with your life and are rebellious. You are probably experiencing love or having sex for the first time. When hanging out with friends you like to do things you shouldn't, you get in trouble. Your parents yell out you, you get grounded. The idea of turning 30 seems impossible, a lifetime away and anyway you hope you die before you get old, you don't trust older people. You are growing up, but not fast enough, you think you know everything, you just need a chance to prove yourself. You think no one understands you and you get depressed sometimes. You hate going to school and don't understand why you have to learn geometry or algebra in the first place. And on and on. Now, once you enter adulthood most of these things change. You move out on your own or get a place with someone. You get a job, start a career, have to pay the bills, buy a car, get insurance, get married, have children, get divorced. All those issues from your teenage years don't mean a thing as new ones have taken over.
Now this is where Alex is. He is 18 years old, on the verge of adulthood. He has a job, he's making money, he's showing responsibility. He doesn't want to commit crimes anymore. Since he's earning his money, he doesn't want to waste it. This is growing up, this is life. You can't stay young forever. You think you'll always like the same music or clothes from when you are younger, but then again, that will change too. Alex clothes and taste in music is changing, he likes the softer stuff. He no longer feeds on the big classical scores. Change is normal. It isn't selling out, experimenting with what is out there is maturity, not being close minded and saying "that sucks". Maybe he'll go back to the classics someday, but we'll never know.
This is how life goes. If you are doing something wrong or illegal, say shoplifting, and you do it 10, 25, 100 times and don't get caught - you think it'll go on forever. Then one day you WILL get caught and everything changes. You'll get arrested, pay a fine, etc. Then that part of your life will be over. Eventually you might go back to it, but you'll be walking a fine line. If you get caught again it is going to be worse. The feeling of it all also changes. Before it was a rush and exciting, now it is dangerous to tempt fate again and therefore boring to contemplate it. It can't go back to how it felt before, your perspective has changed. This is how it is for Alex. He's gotten in trouble, done his time and is not only bored with violence, he doesn't want anymore trouble. The same thing with drinking or drugs. You may drive home drunk a dozen times with no problems. Then one day you get pulled over or hurt someone in an accident and it is all over. This is chapter 21, this is reality. If you don't grow up, you'll die. This is what happened to Georgie. He was still committing crimes and wound up getting killed. Even Dim and Billyboy have jobs as police. While they are still corrupt, they have grown up somewhat.
To some it seems this is the problem. They don't want Alex growing up. They like him the way he is. Well, remember what Alex says at the end, "But you, O my brothers, remember sometimes thy little Alex that was." Alex has grown up, but he wants you to remember the good old days too. We can't travel with him anymore. There is nowhere else to go. He is gong back to work, hitting the dating scene, settling down. There's no more adventures to be told. There is no need for a sequel. What could it be? Alex becoming a rock star? This wouldn't have anything to do with what happened before and could be could anything, certainly not A Clockwork Orange 2. This is good. We know he has matured, has learned and survived. What doesn't kill him makes him stronger. He knows if he has a son he'll do all the same dumb crap he did and there's nothing he can do or say to change that. This is also true. Who believes their parents? We can't even believe they were ever our age since they are just old farts who don't understand. Maybe some people will realize that it ends the way it does when they too grow up. They just can't embrace a kinder, gentler Alex.
This is why to me the 21st chapter is perfect. Alex has grown up, such is life. Alex wants companionship, a family. This is normal. He's done what he's done and can't change it. Maybe even given the opportunity to change it all, he wouldn't do it. Youth wasted on the young. It's a perfect analogy when he describes a wind up toy full of energy just wasting it by crashing aimlessly over and over again into a wall. If only you have all that energy and vitality later in life when you are smart enough to put it to better use. Live and learn. If you don't learn, then your destined to die young or end up in jail. Like Alex, I don't like either of those possibilities.
Novel © 1962 Anthony Burgess
The rest © 2001-08 Alex D. Thrawn for www.MalcolmMcDowell.net