Why this is hell and nor am I out of it

I read Evelyn Waugh's novel when I was seventeen or eighteen, most likely in a gloomy windy afternoon in between the homework and exams. And I was overpowered. Not by any maudlin lines of the author, there is not one, nor by my mawkish nature, though I indeed have one.

Yesterday when I was rearranging my closet I found this book which led to my watching of the film today. Lovely to see Sebastian's little bear again. "No one has ever promised you a rose garden." I do remember someone remarked on the novel saying this, and truly there is no one.

People like them, or probably every soul, rejoice and at the same time grieve over the past, the transient, the irrevocable. There was unfeigned joy, blunt emotion, real and raw, in the past, and in the secret chamber in people's heart which we brick up very soon after we grow old and sophisticated. For the Flyte sister and brother that big house, whereas all above is true, is also a place they long so desperately to flee, and are doomed to be bond to.

The youthful high spirit is mingled with the impetuous fire of desire, love of maturity. Is the gay memory shadowed? Or is itself sinful. "Why this is hell and nor am I out of it?" Ben Whishaw is my favorite actor. He is not performing Sebastian: he is Sebastian - I feel pitiful in not able to say it in a less trite and ostentatious way. All I feel is that he is real. Everyone is real even Lady Flyte, real all the way in her staunch and suffocating belief. And this is hell, because nothing is clear-cut or brisk for long. Its beauty and sin is in the great paradox, in its going back and forth.

In his looking back and her clasped hands.

I bet the flowers that were so adorable sent to Charles by Sebastian on the first day of Oxford shriveled to ashes.

All these are fragmented thoughts lingering in my heart. I am also fully aware of the fact that people's feeling about a certain film or novel has much to do with their own personal life. So I would not be so covetous as to have the least wish to be understood at all.

Because all in all it is what stems from my past, the past of transience and irrevocability.