Other voices, other rooms - Truman Capote IV

"But we are alone, darling child, terribly, isolated from each other; so fierce is the world's ridicule we cannot speak or show our tenderness; for us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laughter; and with the garbage of loneliness stuffed down us until our guts burst bleeding green, we go screaming round the world, dying in our rented rooms, nightmare hotels, eternal homes of the transient heart."

-- Capote is brilliant in this book.
Metaphors, hyperboles, innuendos, irony, come around in every paragraph. The exotic scent of a luxuriant, decrepit and maddening hot South is everywhere to be found.
The speaker here reminds me of Marcel Proust in his room, dreamily writing about the Marquis de Quercy and "a race accursed".