She is sighing deeply now with sympathy and delight - the delight of an addict when someone else admits he's hooked, too. - Christopher Isherwood

And now, as George pours the vodka (giving her a light one, to slow her down) and the scotch (giving himself a heavier one, to catch up on) he begins to feel this utterly mysterious unsensational thing - not bliss, not ecstasy, not joy - just plain happiness - das Glueck, le bonheur, la felicidad - they have given it all three genders but one has to admit, however grudgingly, that the Spanish are right, it is usually feminine, that's to say, woman-created.

...all around George, approaching him, crossing his path from every direction, is the male and female raw material which is fed daily into this factory, along the conveyor-belts of the freeways, to be processed, packaged and placed on the market...
What do they think they are up to? Well, there is the official answer; preparing themselves for life which means a job and security in which to raise children to prepare themselves for life which means a job and security in which...
Here, in their midst, George feels a sort of vertigo. Oh God, what will become of them all? What chance have they? Ought I yell out to them, right now, here, that it's hopeless?
But George knows he can't do that. Because, absurdly, inadequately, in spite of himself almost, he is a representative of hope. And the hope is not false. No. It's just that George is like a man trying to sell a real diamond for a nickel, on the street. The diamond is protected from all but the tiniest few, because the great hurrying majority can never stop to dare to believe that it could conceivably be real.

The Nazis were not right to hate the Jews. But their hating of Jews was not without a cause. No one ever hates without a cause.