Then I perceived with horror that I was growing too old for pleasure. Ruthless Time had set its fell claw upon me, and I was seventeen… . There is too much wistful memory in such procedure, for the fleeting joy of childhood may never be recaptured. Adulthood is hell.
“
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H. P. Lovecraft, in a letter to the Gallomo (Galpin, Lovecraft, and Moe), 1920 |
