From George Orwell's Why I Write

1. Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on the grown-ups who snubbed you in childhood, etc., etc. It is humbug to pretend this is not a motive, and a strong one. Writers share this characteristic with scientists, artists, politicians, lawyers, soldiers, successful businessmen -- in short, with the whole top crust of humanity. The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all -- and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centered than journalists, though less interested in money .

2. Aesthetic enthusiasm. Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and their right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed. The aesthetic motive is very feeble in a lot of writers, but even a pamphleteer or writer of textbooks will have pet words and phrases which appeal to him for non-utilitarian reasons; or he may feel strongly about typography, width of margins, etc. Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.

3. Historical impulse. Desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.

4. Political purpose -- using the word 'political' in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other peoples' idea of the kind of society that they should strive after. Once again, no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

He was an adventurer who made a hobby of cracking safes while working on the atomic bomb, who played bongo drums for a San Francisco ballet. Never condescending when he explained things, he had a knack for breaking problems down to a small, comprehensible scale. 'OK, say the Earth is this apple,' he would begin.

At the height of the Industrial Revolution, Britain was called 'the workshop of the world.' That title surely belongs to China today. It manufactures two thirds of the world's copiers, microwave ovens, DVD players and shoes. (And toys, my 5-year-old son would surely want me to add. All the world's toys.)

To get a sense of how completely China dominates low-cost manufacturing, consider Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart is America's—and the world's—largest corporation. Its revenues are eight times those of Microsoft, and make up 2 percent of America's GDP. It employs 1.4 million people, more than GM, Ford, GE and IBM put together. It is legendary for its efficient—some would say ruthless—efforts to get the lowest price possible for its customers. In doing this, it has used technology, managerial innovation, but, perhaps most significantly, China. Last year Wal-Mart imported $18 billion worth of goods from China. Of Wal-Mart's 6,000 suppliers, 5,000—80 percent—are in one country, and it isn't the United States.

The most tangible legacy of Partisan Review was art critic Clement Greenberg's promotion of Jackson Pollock, which made respectable the random splattering of paint by an inebriated boor.