Inconveniences

“Planes,” Florence replied, looking up at the sky.

“Why won’t they leave me the hell alone?” he thundered.

He hated the war; it threatened much more than his lifestyle or peace of mind. It continually destroyed the world of the imagination, the only world where he felt happy. It was like a shrill, brutal trumpet shattering the fragile crystal walls he’d taken such pains to build in order to shut out the rest of the world.

“God!” he sighed. “How upsetting, what a nightmare!”

Irene Nemirovsky, Suite Francaise

People really do think that way. I know one in particular.