Skylark by Dezső Kosztolányi

 

"The smoke caressed his long-chastened palate, the familiar fragrance tickling his nose, overpowering his brain, soothing his ancient, torpid blood and stirring long-forgotten sensations within him. What did he care for the chatter that surrounded him? For constitutional law, for Viennese intrigues, for Dreyfus or Labori? He leaned back into his chair and began digesting."