"A single sentence will suffice for modern man: He fornicated and read the papers."
Then there was Camus (died in a car crash), who’d said, There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn. Was that ironic, or what? Where had his scorn gotten him? But who could say, really, maybe old Camus was sitting somewhere even now, looking on with a sneer. Or maybe he’d meant that he would overcome fate by writing scornfully. Or just by writing. Literature was greater than death. -- Chapter 38, The Misforgotten.