"'For ten days it had been a flop, and for ten years afterwards we were happy. Very happy. But worry can get established in a room, in the colour of the curtains—it can hang itself up on coat-hangers; you find it smoking away in the ashtray marked Pernod, and when you look at the bed it pokes its head out from underneath like the toes of a pair of shoes.'"
William Harris to Poopy Travis, in Graham Greene's "May we borrow your husband?", in Graham Greene: Complete short stories (New York: Penguin Books, 2005), 324 (301-332).