Recognizing this, he invariably suffered an involuntary twinge of vainglory, the almost haughty yet well-concealed manners of a parvenu treated as an equal by princes and princesses
The artist had always been disposed to raillery, a French preference for mingling ironic touches with the most serious sentiments.
One morning, however, I realized I had to get rid of it, for my reprieve was running out, and if I didn’t get rid of it I was going to get drunk—and I didn’t want to get drunk anymore. In my prayers that morning I asked God to point out to me some way to be free of this resentment. During the day, …
I remember the day when I decided to drink myself to death quietly, without bothering anyone, because I was tired of having been a dependable, trustworthy person for about thirty-nine years without having received what I thought was a proper reward for my virtue. [...]
