The Pain, Or The Memory Of Pain,

Drink Up, Boys, Drink Up And Don’t Worry, If We Finish This Bottle We’ll Go Down And Buy Another One. Of Course, It Won’t Be The Same As The One We’ve Got Now, But It’ll Still Be Better Than Nothing. Ah, What A Shame They Don’t Make Los Suicidas Mezcal Anymore, What A Shame That Time Pases, Don’t You Think? What A Shame That We Die, And Get Old, And Everything Good Goes Galloping Away From Us.

I’m Seventeen Years Old, My Name Is Juan García Madero, And I’m In My First Semester Of Law School. I Wanted To Study Literature, Not Law, But My Uncle Insisted, And In The End I Gave In. I’m An Orphan, And Someday I’ll Be A Lawyer. That’s What I Told My Aunt And Uncle, And Then I Shut Myself In My Room And Cried All Night.

Nothing Is Ever Behind Us.

When You Die Of Sorrow It's As If You've Broken All The Bones In Your Body, Bruised Yourself All Over, Cracked Your Skull. That's Sorrow.

I'll Tell You, My Friends: It's All In The Nerves. The Nerves That Tense And Relax As You Approach The Edges Of Companionship And Love. The Razor-sharp Edges Of Companionship And Love.