He probably was mediocre after all, though in a very honorable sense of that word.

I am driven by a fear of mediocrity and a sense of purpose.

For the myth is the foundation of life; it is the timeless schema, the pious formula into which life flows when it reproduces its traits out of the unconscious.

Laughter is a sunbeam of the soul.

The books and magazines streamed in. He could buy them all, they piled up around him and even while he read, the number of those still to be read disturbed him. … they stood in rows, weighing down his life like a possession which he did not succeed in subordinating to his personality.

Speech is civilization itself. The word... preserves contact / it is silence which isolates.