Here is another miserable mental image I will have to catalog and make room for.

All you will get from me is death.

Work will drive you crazy if you let it.

He is not bad, I don't think. Perhaps he is simply too lazy to be good.

...but I could not sleep without proper covering and spent the rest of the night rewriting lost arguments from my past, altering history so that I emerged victorious.

I had never been with a woman for longer than a night, and they had always been whores. And while throughout each of these speedy encounters I tried to maintain a friendliness with the women, I knew in my heart it was false, and afterward always felt remote and caved in. I had in the last year or so given up whores entirely, thinking it best to go without rather than pantomime human closeness.

Luck was something you either earned or invented through strength of character. You had to come by it honestly; you could not trick or bluff your way into it.