Sublime

Samuel was prematurely middle-aged, not just in his dimensions, which were bloated, and not just in his complexion, which was pale but flushed with the exertion of holding himself upright—sweat would dapple the groove between his upper lip and nose—but above all in something he exuded, which was a pheromone of loneliness and hostility.

Ouroboros!

acerbic

anachronistic—I

obsidian gloss

To stumble and then correct oneself, this was a necessary and exquisite thing.

Morris Schutt is stumbling towards a discovery of himself, attempting to understand how one should live the best life.

an eloquent awareness of the human vicissitudes, the raw edges of even the most ordinary day.

unsullied.