Theme of the book: Not only is the outward man decaying, but the inward too, so I may as well grab what pleasure I can and indulge what passions I have.
Therefore, its super depressing. Aldous Huxley has rejected what will fill the void, which make him infinitely pitiful.
He harms the very one he desires, and then is upset with her for being "mortal".
Its a picture of how self-destructive, and other-destructive, we humans often are.
Quotes:
And love flows in on him, its vastness pent Within his narrow life: the pain it brings, Boundless; for love is infinite discontent With the poor lonely life of transient things.
Men see their god, an immanence divine, Smile through the curve of flesh or moulded clay, In bare ploughed lands that go sloping away To meet the sky in one clean exquisite line. Out of the short-seen dawns of ecstasy They draw new beauty, whence new thoughts are born And in their turn conceive, as grains of corn Germ and create new life and endlessly Shall live creating. Out of earthly seeds Springs the aerial flower. One spirit proceeds Through change, the same in body and in soul— The spirit of life and love that triumphs still In its slow struggle towards some far-off goal Through lust and death and the bitterness of will.
Truth is brought to birth Not in some vacant heaven: its beauty springs From the dear bosom of material earth.
The days pass by, empty of thought and will: His thought grows stagnant at its very springs, With every channel on the world of things Dammed up, and thus, by its long standing still, Poisons itself and sickens to decay.
The world a candle shuddering to its death, And life a darkness, blind and utterly void Of any love or goodness: all deceit, This friendship and this God: all shams destroyed, And truth seen now. Earth fails beneath his feet.