It seems wherever I go there is drama. People are like lice-They get under your skin and bury themselves there. You scratch and scratch until blood comes, but you can’t get permanently deloused. Everywhere I go people are making a mess of their lives. Everyone has his personal tragedy. It’s in the blood now-misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. The atmosphere is saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. Scratch and scratch- until there’s no skin left.
Tropic of Cancer - Henry Miller