the scornful force of his tone turned the word into a curse
Sarcasm... the protest of those who are weak.
The summer of 1943 at Exeter was as happy a time as I ever had in my life.
I did no know everything there was to know about myself, and knew that I did not know it.
But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.
As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.