“But he hated to be sober. It made him conscious of the people around him, of that air of struggle, of greedy ambition, of hope more sordid than despair, of incessant passage up or down…. There was kindliness about intoxication – there was the indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings”
“There was a kindliness about intoxication - there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings.”
“It gave me an extraordinary feeling, being on the receiving end of such a stare. It made me feel like I was more important than air to him for a brief, profound moment.”
“I hated him. I hated them all. They made me hate myself even more than I already did.”
“The more he smiled, the more I wanted to hate him, and yet it was the very thing that made hating him impossible.”
“Experience had taught me that even the most precious memories fade with the passage of time.”