Though tragedy was in the process of becoming unreal and meaningless it seemed one was still permitted to remember the days when an individual life h… - Malcolm Lowry

In the final analysis there was no one you could trust to drink with you to the bottom of the bowl.

God, how pointless and empty the world is! Days filled with cheap and tarnished moments succeed each other, restless and haunted nights follow in bitter routine: the sun shines without brightness, and the moon rises without light.

There was no mistaking, even in the uncertain light, the hand, half crabbed, half generous, and wholly drunken, of the Consul himself, the Greek e’s, the flying buttresses of d’s, the t’s like lonely wayside crosses save where they crucified an entire word.