If man limits himself to a satisfied animal existence, and asks from life only what such an existence can give, the higher values of life at once disappear.
I'm only interested in fiction that in some way or other voices the very imagination which is conceiving it.
No, only disappointment in myself on those occasions I didn't manage to rise to the occasion as I felt I should've done. I can always see how to do it, and then the challenge is, Can I manage that each and every day?