“ It was past and over, and he was done with it—he would fling it off his shoulders, be free of it, hateful nightmare, and in the morning he would be a new man. And every time that a thought of it assailed him—a tender memory, a trace of a tear— he rose up cursing with rage, and pounded it down. He was fighting for a life; he gnashed his teeth together in his desperation. He had been a fool, a fool! He had wasted his life, he had wrecked himself, with his accursed weakness; and now he was done with it—he would tear it out of him, root and branch! There should be no more tears and no more tenderness; he had had enough of them—they had sold him into slavery! Now hew as going to be free, to tear off his shackles, to rise up and fight.
Upton Sinclair- The Jungle
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