The act of writing itself turned out to be a struggle, too. He racked his brains every day, but produced nothing that he was happy with. "I had no dignity when I was unemployed," he recalls. "The only time I had any dignity at all was when I was holed up in our study, trying to work out what I wanted to do."
「失業的時候是沒有人格的，只有把自己關在書房，研究自己想做的事時，才有人格。」