Portnoy's Complaint - Philip Roth
For love? What love? Is that what binds all these couples we know together - the ones who even bother to let themselves be bound? Isn't it something more like weakness? Isn't it rather convenience and apathy and guilt? Isn't it rather fear and exhaustion and inertia, gutlessness plain and simple, far far more than that "love" that the marriage counselors, songwriters and psychotherapists are forever dreaming about? Please, let us not bullsh*t one another about "love" and its duration.
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