He would only drift and sink, drift and sink, like the others of his family; but worse than them - down, down… — George Orwell
He would only drift and sink, drift and sink, like the others of his family; but worse than them - down, down into some dreadful sub-world that as yet he could only dimly imagine. It was what he had chosen when he declared war on money. Serve the money-god or go under; there is no other rule.
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He had reached the age when the future ceases to be a rosy blur and becomes actual and menacing.
That is the devilish thing about poverty, the ever-recurrent thing - loneliness. Day after day with never an intelligent person to talk to; night after night back to your godless room, always alone. Perhaps it sounds rather fun if you are rich and sought-after; but how different it is when you do it from necessity!
In a country like England you can no more be cultured without money than you can join the Cavalry Club.
