I can't tell you—oh I can't tell you—how awful—how sort of unlivable—everything is now—like a great black wall in front of me—Something's got to smash.

I've been so unhappy for years, so unhappy . . . I don't understand how a human being can be so unhappy all the time and still be alive.

But now more often the old stale hopeless weariness overcame him: the black sickness which almost no one else, certainly not his nearest dearest friends, could understand at all. The idea of giving up the world, which had given him for a time so much life-energy, appeared now as a sort of fake suicide, a ghastly play-image of his death. This fatal falseness-of-heart was what perhaps Father Damien, on further acquaintance, had now seen in him.

Bradley, my marriage is over. I think my life is probably over. What a poor affair it has been.

You are sad.""I am always sad.

It's not even like memory. It's all just there.""All the time, Willy?""Every hour, every minute.

I must admit that I am in a state of utter wretchedness and have been for a long time. I didn't know that such extreme unhappiness could continue for so long.

He felt irritably dissatisfied with himself. Then his old huge familiar misery gradually returned like an old friend.

In faith I know not why I am so sad."Ludens did not reply to this remark which Gildas often uttered.