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410 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1944
In all big cities there are self-contained groups that exist without intercommunication, small worlds within a greater world that lead their lives, their members dependent upon one another for companionship, as though they inhabited islands separated from each other by an unnavigable strait. Of no city, in my experience, is this more true than of Paris.
Who could deny that Elliott, that arch-snob, was also the kindest, most considerate and generous of men?
“And you call yourself an English gentlemen,� she exclaimed, savagely.
“No, that’s a thing I’ve never done in all my life.�
"The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard." (Paraphrased from the Katha Upanishad)
... self-sacrifice is a passion so overwhelming that beside it even lust and hunger are trifling. It whirls its victim to destruction in the highest affirmation of his personality. The object doesn't matter; it may be worthwhile or it may be worthless. No wine is so intoxicating, no love so shattering, no vice so compelling. When he sacrifices himself man for a moment is [or believes himself to be] greater than God, for how can God, infinite and omnipotent, sacrifice himself? At best he can only sacrifice his only begotten son.Powerful stuff. The only novel I've read that fully explores this significant human blindspot.