This is from Californication, one of Hank Moody’s characteristic soliloquies:
It’s my purgatory, really, inner drinks, whatever. I’m never really all that interested, but I find myself telling her how beautiful she is anyway. ‘Cause it’s true, all women are, in one way or another. You know, there’s always something about every damn one of you, it’s a smile, a curve, a secret. You ladies really are the most amazing creatures, my life’s work. But then there’s the morning after, a hangover, and the realization that I’m not quite as available as I thought I was the night before. And then she’s gone, and I’m haunted by yet another road not taken.
This pretty well accords with my feelings and my story, more often than not. Just thought I’d put it on record.