people are like ice.

 

Well, I’ll take these pages and move on. Things are happening elsewhere.

Things are always happening. 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 the blood comes, but you can’t get permanently deloused.

Everywhere I go people are making a mess of their lives.

Everyone has his private 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.

However, the effect upon me is exhilarating. Instead of being discouraged or depressed,

 I enjoy it. I am crying for more and more disasters, for bigger calamities, grander failures.

 I want the whole world to be out of whack, I want everyone to scratch himself to death.

--Henry Miller