He felt bad.

October 21, 2011

Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of the morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eye-balls again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he’d somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.

Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis

Dude, how many campus novels can one man read in a twelve-month period?

This is the only one I’ve read this year! It just took me a couple of months to post the quote.

This passage in particular is genius, but so is what comes right before and right after it.

no way, what about that one…with the really short name.

Ummmm. Pnin? I haven’t read that, though.