P. G. Wodehouse

“ I'm not a celebrity. You're talking through your hat, Julian."
Julian lit his pipe.
"Not at all," he said. "Count the number of people who must necessarily be in the secret from the beginning. There are your publishers, Prodder and Way. Then there are the editors of the magazine which publishes your Society dialogue bilge, and of all the newspapers, other than the Orb, in which your serious verse appears. My dear Jimmy, the news that you and George Chandos were the same man would go up and down Fleet Street and into the Barrel like wildfire. ”

“ The editors who have been taking your stuff hitherto may have a respect for the name of James Orlebar Cloyster which they may not extend to the name of John Smith or George Chandos, or whoever it is. I mean, it's quite likely the withdrawal of the name will lead to the rejection of the manuscript."
"Oh no; that's all right," I said. "It's the stuff they want, not the name. I don't say that names don't matter. They do. ”

“ Editor of Something-or-other.' Sooner or later a man who writes at all regularly for the papers is bound to meet the editors of them. A successful author can't conduct all his business through the post. Of course, if you chucked London and went to live in the country——"
"I couldn't," I said. "I simply couldn't do it. London's got into my bones."
"It does," said Julian.
"I like the country, but I couldn't live there. Besides, I don't believe I could write there—not for long. All my ideas would go."
Julian nodded.
"Just so," he said. "Then exit George Chandos." ”