"Yet the feeling lingered that there was more innate goodness in him than in others,that some unquenchable fire was keeping him alive, that he was more truly himself than I could ever hope to be."
I am reading Paul Auster's The New York Trilogy right now. It is my first Auster book. I like it so far.
In the above entry, I think he has encapsulated envy perfectly. The most lasting envy I've felt has been toward those who seemed so good, so simply and effortlessly themselves while the rest of us just flopped around and tried on faces.