he writer has a grudge against society, which he documents with accounts of unsatisfying sex, unrealized ambition, unmitigated lo neliness, and a sense of local and global distress. The square, overpopulation, the bourgeois, the bomb...
My capacity for having a good time exists. It surfaces, however, on odd occasions.
The pressures were wrong. There was just enough money and not enough time.
Self-pity” is just sadness, I think, in the pejorative.