Orwell - Burmese Days

Was he no more than a loafer using his idleness to invent imaginary woes? A spiritual Mrs. Witterly? A Hamlet without poetry? Perhaps. And if so, did that make it any more bearable? It is not the less bitter because it is perhaps one's own fault, to see oneself drifting, rotting in dishonour and horrible futility, and all the while knowing that somewhere within one there is the possibility of a decent human being.