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314 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1944
In all big cities there are self-contained groups that exist without intercommunication, small worlds within a greater world that lead their lives, their members dependent upon one another for companionship, as though they inhabited islands separated from each other by an unnavigable strait. Of no city, in my experience, is this more true than of Paris.
Who could deny that Elliott, that arch-snob, was also the kindest, most considerate and generous of men?
“And you call yourself an English gentlemen,” she exclaimed, savagely.
“No, that’s a thing I’ve never done in all my life.”
"The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard." (Paraphrased from the Katha Upanishad)
... self-sacrifice is a passion so overwhelming that beside it even lust and hunger are trifling. It whirls its victim to destruction in the highest affirmation of his personality. The object doesn't matter; it may be worthwhile or it may be worthless. No wine is so intoxicating, no love so shattering, no vice so compelling. When he sacrifices himself man for a moment is [or believes himself to be] greater than God, for how can God, infinite and omnipotent, sacrifice himself? At best he can only sacrifice his only begotten son.Powerful stuff. The only novel I've read that fully explores this significant human blindspot.
This book consists of my recollections of a man with whom I was thrown into close contact only at long intervals, and I have little knowledge of what happened to him in between. I suppose that by the exercise of invention I could fill the haps plausibly enough and so make my narrative more coherent; but I have no wish to do that. I only want to set down what I know of my knowledge.
Many years ago I wrote a novel called ‘The Moon and Sixpence’. In that I took a famous painter, Paul Gauguin, and, using the novelist’s privilege, devised a number of incidents to illustrate the character I had created on the suggestions afforded me by the scanty facts I knew about the French artist. In the present book I have attempted to do nothing of the kind. I have invented nothing.