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S.D. Wickett
Goodreads Author
Member Since
November 2024
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The Passenger
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published
2024
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2 editions
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S.D. Wickett
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“And of all the memories I have come to possess, in that haze of my youth, that day with Adeline ranks among the happiest, and most often recollected. It was in the final days of my boyhood, while twenty loomed, like a cloaked assailant, sharpening a knife or loading a pistol.
It was the final time I would taste young love; before the bitterness, found only in the heartache of mid-twenties and beyond, came to me like an ambush in an alleyway.” S.D. Wickett |
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S.D. Wickett
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“Tomorrow,’ I said quietly to myself. ‘I shall be older, where once it felt as if I were to be forever young. And the next day I shall be even older, and older more the day after that - looking back with a sterner face, scarred by lines and wrinkles, hardened by time and regret, left baffled and bemused by the world around me, which seems intent on throttling the artist and praying to the merchant and financier - more dishonest, less taken by all that is beautiful and good; more conducive to my own flavour of madness, which brews and boils with every day that passes. I do not hate the world as it is, rather for what it is not, or is no longer.
“But I can never go back, can I?” “No,” he said. “That’s the greatest curse of life, isn’t it; that we can never go back.” S.D. Wickett |
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“I was born on a Tuesday in the August of 1933. On the Wednesday, my mother died. My father died too on a Wednesday, twelve years later. In lieu of them, I became aimless and senseless, and lived out my years with a twin chasm of absence and vague loss. I carried that loss to all places and into all relations. Perhaps this is the key to understanding a man such as myself; self-raised and educated by error. And now, in my expiring embers - as I dwindle and flicker, and the cancer spreads - I seem to know myself truly at last.”
― The Passenger
― The Passenger
“And of all the memories I have come to possess, in that haze of my youth, that day with Adeline ranks among the happiest, and most often recollected. It was in the final days of my boyhood, while twenty loomed, like a cloaked assailant, sharpening a knife or loading a pistol.
It was the final time I would taste young love; before the bitterness, found only in the heartache of mid-twenties and beyond, came to me like an ambush in an alleyway.”
―
It was the final time I would taste young love; before the bitterness, found only in the heartache of mid-twenties and beyond, came to me like an ambush in an alleyway.”
―
“Tomorrow,’ I said quietly to myself. ‘I shall be older, where once it felt as if I were to be forever young. And the next day I shall be even older, and older more the day after that - looking back with a sterner face, scarred by lines and wrinkles, hardened by time and regret, left baffled and bemused by the world around me, which seems intent on throttling the artist and praying to the merchant and financier - more dishonest, less taken by all that is beautiful and good; more conducive to my own flavour of madness, which brews and boils with every day that passes. I do not hate the world as it is, rather for what it is not, or is no longer.
“But I can never go back, can I?”
“No,” he said.
“That’s the greatest curse of life, isn’t it; that we can never go back.”
―
“But I can never go back, can I?”
“No,” he said.
“That’s the greatest curse of life, isn’t it; that we can never go back.”
―
“I was born on a Tuesday in the August of 1933. On the Wednesday, my mother died. My father died too on a Wednesday, twelve years later. In lieu of them, I became aimless and senseless, and lived out my years with a twin chasm of absence and vague loss. I carried that loss to all places and into all relations. Perhaps this is the key to understanding a man such as myself; self-raised and educated by error. And now, in my expiring embers - as I dwindle and flicker, and the cancer spreads - I seem to know myself truly at last.”
― The Passenger
― The Passenger
“Tomorrow,’ I said quietly to myself. ‘I shall be older, where once it felt as if I were to be forever young. And the next day I shall be even older, and older more the day after that - looking back with a sterner face, scarred by lines and wrinkles, hardened by time and regret, left baffled and bemused by the world around me, which seems intent on throttling the artist and praying to the merchant and financier - more dishonest, less taken by all that is beautiful and good; more conducive to my own flavour of madness, which brews and boils with every day that passes. I do not hate the world as it is, rather for what it is not, or is no longer.
“But I can never go back, can I?”
“No,” he said.
“That’s the greatest curse of life, isn’t it; that we can never go back.”
―
“But I can never go back, can I?”
“No,” he said.
“That’s the greatest curse of life, isn’t it; that we can never go back.”
―
“And of all the memories I have come to possess, in that haze of my youth, that day with Adeline ranks among the happiest, and most often recollected. It was in the final days of my boyhood, while twenty loomed, like a cloaked assailant, sharpening a knife or loading a pistol.
It was the final time I would taste young love; before the bitterness, found only in the heartache of mid-twenties and beyond, came to me like an ambush in an alleyway.”
―
It was the final time I would taste young love; before the bitterness, found only in the heartache of mid-twenties and beyond, came to me like an ambush in an alleyway.”
―
