They all want to escape from the pain of being alive.
And, most of all, from love. I always knew something like
this would turn up - some problem, like an ill wife - and
it would be too much for those delicate hot-house feelings
It's no good trying to fool yourself about love. You can't
fall into it like a soft job, without dirtying up your hands.
It takes muscle and guts. And if you can't bear the thought
of messing up your nice, clean soul you'd better give up the
whole idea of life, and become a saint. Because you'll never
make it as a human being. It's either this world or the next.
John Osborne, Look Back in Anger, 1957
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