The damned have always a table to sit at, whereon they rest their elbows and support leaden weight of their brains. The damned are always sightless,gazing out at the world with blank orbs. The damned are always petrified, and in the center of their petrification is immeasurable emptiness. The damned have always the same excuse _
the loss of the beloved.
.
.

Henry Miller, Sexus page 489