"He thought, the most indecent sight on earth, a pawnshop window. The things which had been sacred to men, and the things which had been precious, surrendered to the sight of all, to the pawing and the bargaining, trash to the indifferent eyes of strangers, the equality of a junk heap, typewriters and violins - the tools of dreams, old photographs and wedding rings - the tags of love, together with soiled trousers, coffee pots, ash trays, pornographic plaster figures; the refuse of despair, pledged, not sold, not cut off in clean finality, but hocked to a stillborn hope, never to be redeemed."
From "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand
The goddamn sentence builds from a dark perspective, grows and takes on a life of its own.
And hammers you with "the refuse of despair"
and
"a stillborn hope".
Stillborn hope?
Nothing could be darker.
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