I had the kind of empty cleverness and superficial facility with words, a willingness to go beyond and surprise, sometimes delight, with my ability for self-abasement and self-absorption, but nothing of real intelligence.

In this I was like the vast majority of innumerate men who had hidden from the world in books and drink, occasionally sobering up and realizing what a mess I'd made of my life and what little time was left to turn it round.

But still, as was always true, and for everyone, I had the rest of my life to get better.