But the days went by, and they turned into weeks and months – was I bored? I will concede that one does not always have a book that will yield hour after hour of memorable experience; moreover one’s attempts to improvise at the piano have at times been complete failures, and one has sat by the window, smoking cigarettes, while gradually and irresistibly a feeling of distaste creeps over one, distaste for oneself and for everything else.
Mann, Thomas. ‘The Joker’ in Death in Venice. Translated by David Luke. London: Vintage Books, 1897/1998. 44-45.