And I was desolate and sick of an old passion.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
There was no way to laugh anymore, to love, to care, and there was a sense of guilt in having survived when others had been killed. I turned into a worse workaholic than I had already been by trying to work myself into the ground.
I can't say I gave up totally my passion for women but almost.
I didn't end up some sad, tragic guy singing in a lounge somewhere. I never went out and took big money for nostalgia and became like an oldies act.
I was miserable as a kid.
I stopped being an engaged journalist and became a disengaged novelist.
I stopped acting because I had other passions I wanted to pursue.
For a long time, I didn't want to live.
I danced with passion to spite the music.
I still have the passion to play.
I was passionate. I found something that I loved. I could be all alone in a big old skating rink and nobody could get near me and I didn't have to talk to anybody because of my shyness. It was great. I was in my fantasy world.