"It was one in the morning, and he himself was just a bow-tied drunk, a walking wrong note of hope and need."
From The Line Of Beauty.
This novel is so unsettling and compelling, because Hollinghurst just keeps hitting the nail on the head of all those private little things and thoughts that you rarely ever tell another person. It's uncomfortable, but oddly reassuring to know that one is not alone I suppose. Who hasn't felt this way at a party? I know I have.
On that note, I'm going to go sit in a bar and wait for a man to talk to me and it's not even 1a.m.
