Under the Volcano: A Novel

Good God, if our civilization were to sober up for a couple of days it’d die of remorse on the third

there are a thousand things to say and there isn’t going to be time to say most of them

I think that you will be on it, on that plane every morning as it goes by, and will have come to save me.

He imagined he could smell the rain, and it ran in his head he would enjoy nothing better than to get wet, soaked through to the skin, to walk on and on through this wild country in his clinging white flannels getting wetter and wetter and wetter. He watched the clouds: dark swift horses surging up the sky. A black storm breaking out of its season! That was what love was like, he thought