Gabriel had never been fond of Viennese coffeehouses. There was something in the smell - the potion of stale tobacco smoke, coffee, and liqueur - that he found offensive. And although he was quiet and still by nature, he did not enjoy sitting for long periods, wasting valuable time. He did not read in public, because he feared old enemies might be stalking him. He drank coffee only in the morning, to help him wake, and rich desserts made him ill. Witty conversation annoyed him, and listening to the conversations of others, especially pseudo-intellectuals, drove him to near madness. Gabriel's private hell would be a room where he would be forced to listen to a discussion of art led by people who knew nothing about it.
- From A Death in Vienna by Daniel Silva
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