This violence, oh, how it draws me to it like a fly to honey, though the repercussions, such as that of pain and guilt, of this intense action repulses me as if the sweet substance were only coating vinegar.
I love her dearly, but I can’t live with her for a day without feeling my whole life is wasting away. — Miss Kenton, The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
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