Under the Volcano

by Malcolm Lowry

“Sickness is not only in body, but in that part used to be call: soul. Poor your friend, he spend his money on earth in such continuous tragedies.”

I think I know a good deal about physical suffering. But this is worst of all, to feel your soul dying.

I wonder if it is because to-night my soul has really died that I feel at the moment something like peace.

A frustrated poet in every man.

“I love hell. I can’t wait to get back there. In fact I’m running, I’m almost back there already.”

What is there in life besides the person whom one adores and the life one can build with that person?