Looking back on those incidents, he was always appalled by the memory of his passivity, hard though it was to see what else he could have done. He could have refused to pay for the gravy damage to his room, could have refused to change his shoes, could have refused to kneel to supplicate for his B.A. He had preferred to surrender and get the degree. The memory of that surrender made him more stubborn , less willing to compromise, to make an accommodation with injustice, no matter how persuasive the reasons. Injustice would always thereafter conjure up the memory of gravy. Injustice was a brown, lumpy, congealing fluid, and it smelled pungently, tearfully, of onions. Unfairness was the feeling running back to one’s room, flat out, at the last minute, to change one’s outlawed brown shoes. It was the business of being forced to beg, on one’s knees, in a dead language, for what was rightfully yours.
Random Passages is a random collection of memorable writing.
- Were you in love with her?
- During the first part of your life, you only become of happiness once you have lost it
- Your only chance of survival, if you are sincerely smitten, lies in hiding this fact from the woman you love
- They look so fine, and young, and wrapped up in each other.
- Christ, he thinks, by my age I ought to know
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