only the young can be alone freely
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Just read 'Vers de société', in which celebrated literary misanthrope and lifelong commitmentphobe Philip Larkin moans about, among other things, how tough it is to get the poetic contemplations in when people keep mithering you all the time. To which all I can say is: Philip old son, if you hear a dripping noise, it's my heart bleeding for you.
(Of course it turns out that even when you do find time for appropriately poetic solitude, all you can do is sit there next to your gas fire freaking out about the imminence of death anyway. Buggrit.)
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