«Jimmy: They all want to escape from the pain of being alive. And, most of all, love. It's no good trying to fool yourself about love. You can't fall into it like a soft job, without dirtying up your hands. It takes muscles and guts. And if you can't bear the thought of messing up your nice, clean soul - you'd better give up the whole idea of life, and because you'll never make it as a human being. It's either this world of the next.»

[...]

«Jimmy: One day, when I'm no longer spending my days running a sweet-stall, I may write a book about us all. It's all here. (slapping his forehead) Written in flames a mile high. And it won't be recollected in tranquility either, picking daffodils with Auntie Wordsworth. It'll be recollected in fire, and blood. My blood.»

John Osborne, in Look Back in Anger (1956)