There's something that's gone out of us in these twenty years since the war. It'a kind of vital juice that we've squirted away till there's nothing left. All this rushing to and fro ! Everlasting scramble for a bit of cash. Everlasting din of buses, bombs, radios, telephone bells. Nerves worn all to bits. Empty places in our bones where the marrow ought to be.
Coming Up for Air
George Orwell
1939
re-blogged from
Lou Boxer at
Noircon
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