Sunday, August 2, 2009


Much of Thackeray’s satiric attitude toward life was a defense mechanism to conceal basic sentimentality. Snobbish enough to be thrilled by favors from persons of title, he never quite got over feeling that it degraded a gentleman to write for a living. He loved his friends, and was loved by them, yet constantly got into hot water by foolish impulsive utterances and tactless personal allusions in his books. As a result, a life darkened by tragedy was also spattered with the mud of silly squabbles. He ate and drank himself into a premature grave, but had written himself out before he died.

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