"To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commission and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourseleves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves."
Excerpted from 'On Self Respect,' in Slouching Towards Bethlehem
I've been reading more and more creative non-fiction- essays, journals, and memoirs.
It's wonderful when you find a certain passage that speaks so loudly and clearly to you. It's that strange sensation of discomfort mixed with pleasure- you feel slightly guilty at sharing the same thoughts, and yet delight in the discovery that someone else out there knows exactly how you feel.
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