"Gant, faced with the loss of sensuous delight, knowing the time had come when all his Rabelaisian excess in eating, drinking and loving must come under the halter, knew of no gain that could compensate him for the loss of libertinism; he felt too the sharp ache of regret, feeling that he had possessed powers, had wasted chances, such as his partnership with Will Pentland, that might have given him position and wealth. He knew that the century had gone in which the best part of his life had passed; he felt more than ever, the strangeness and loneliness of our little adventure upon the earth: he thought of his childhood on the Dutch farm, the Baltimore days, the aimless drift down the continent, the appalling fixation of his whole life on a series of accidents. The enormous tragedy of accident hung like a gray cloud over his life. He saw more clearly than ever that he was a stranger in a strange land among people who would always be alien to him. Strangest of all, he thought, was this union, by which he had begotten children, created a life dependent on him, with a woman so remote from all he understood."
From Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe.
I will make my usual commentary about great writing. This book is a classic. The author is famous. The book was published in 1929. I just started reading this recently. I take enormous comfort from reading stuff like this. It soothes my brain, my soul and my psyche. I always know when I am reading great writing because of the way my mind and body respond. An amazing sense of peace.
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