"His mind seemed older than theirs: it shone coldly on their strifes and happiness and regrets like a moon upon a younger earth. No life or youth stirred within his soul but a cold and cruel and loveless lust. His childhood was dead or lost and with it his soul of simple joys, and he was drifting amid life like the barren shell of the moon."
—A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
(Source: failpants, via opheodrys)