Share this page: Nothing in the world was more terrible than an empty bottle! Unless it was an empty glass, -- Under the Volcano (1947), ch. 3 Where are the children I might have had? You may suppose that I might have wanted them. Drowned to the accompaniment of the rattling of a thousand douche bags. -- Under the Volcano (1947), ch. 10 How alike are the groans of love to those of the dying. -- Under the Volcano (1947), ch. 12 Dark as the Grave Wherein my Friend is Laid -- Title of novel (published posthumously in 1968) Late of the Bowery His prose was flowery And often glowery Who worked nightly, And sometimes daily, And died playing the ukulele. -- 'Epitaph', in: The Collected Poetry of Malcolm Lowry, Kathleen Scherf, ed. (1992) Share this page:

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