I want excitement.

I have taken up one thing after another, and gone just far enough to understand that there's no hope of reaching what I aimed at--superlative excellence; then the thing began to nauseate me.

I'm like poor Jackson, the novelist, who groaned to me once that for fifteen years the reviewers had been describing his books as 'above the average.' In whatever I have undertaken the results were 'above the average,' and that's all.

This is damned poor consolation for a man with a temperament like mine!" His voice broke down.

He had talked himself into a tremor, and the exhibition of feeling astonished his brother, who--as is so often the case between brothers--had never suspected what lay beneath the surface of Eustace's _dilettante_ life.
"I can enter into that," said the elder, slowly.