I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic.
There was something in sensual desire which superseded and therefore must be superior to reason and will.
You're not even interesting enough to make me sick.
The sexual drive is insatiable, it is impossible to feed it with one body.
I'd always been drawn to the purity of the desert, its hot wind and wide, open spaces. But mainly I was bored of life in the city, with its repetitions, my half-finished, half-hearted attempts at jobs and various studies. And I was sick of carrying around the self-indulgent negativity that was so much the malaise of my generation, my sex and my class.