This playing at self-pity's useless, since it's like a vulture, feeding on your mind. The worst of company can still convince you that you're a man, part of Mankind. I do not mean, in any way, by that to set you with the Great Unwashed; I may not be the most distinguished man you've ever met, but still, if you would care to come with me, we could make common cause.

Poor devil, have you anything to give? Though I do find you entertaining, the day your flattering lies persuade me to think well of myself - the day that I become a slave to pleasures that degrade me, that day's my last - I'll be content to die.