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So there was not an "I" anymore - not a basis on which I could organize my self-respect - save my limitless capacity for toil that it seemed I possessed no more.

"The Crack-Up" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, www.esquire.com. 1936.
So there was not an I anymore - not a basis on which I could organize my self-respect - save my limitless capacity for toil that it seemed I possessed no more.