Era como los hombres que han estado mucho tiempo en las trincheras, demasiado tiempo bajo el fuego. El sufrimiento humano ordinario, la envidia humana ordinaria, las ambiciones humanas ordinarias... eran mierda para mí.

Eleanor was, say, the last time that evil crept close to Amory under the mask of beauty, the last weird mystery that held him with wild fascination and pounded his soul to flakes.

The whole country's going to puke blood when they read it.

I sit there and think how it isn't fair that I can't drink at all, even a little. I realize I have crammed an entire lifetime of moderate drinking into a decade of hard-core drinking and that is why. I blew my wad.

Written By Augusten Burroughs

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