He knew that all things human are transitory and therefore that it must cease one day or another. He looked forward to that day with eager longing. Love was like a parasite in his heart, nourishing a hateful existence on his life's blood; it absorbed his existence so intensely that he could take pleasure in nothing else.
W. Somerset MaughamAbout author
- Author's profession: Playwright, Writer
- Nationality: british
- Born: January 25, 1874
- Died: December 16, 1965