“Not to worry; there are always those habitual gathering places of idlers, where all the dust of solitude is blown away. Bookshops, perhaps because of their studious atmosphere, or for some other reason that escapes me, are not suitable for our purpose. However, it can be worthwhile visiting them from time to time, as long as you make sure everyone sees you doing it. There is a simple way of resolving this dilemma: go to a bookshop solely to talk about the rumor of the day, the funny story of the week, some salacious affair or scandal, a passing comet, or whatever it may be (unless, of course, you’d rather approach habitual readers of Monsieur Mazade’s erudite columns in the Revue des Deux Mondes); seventy-five percent of these worthy denizens will repeat to you exactly the same opinions, and such monotony is eminently useful. By following this regime for eight, ten, eighteen months—let’s call it two years—you can reduce the most prodigious of intellects to a sober, disciplined, and tedious equilibrium. I haven’t mentioned vocabulary, for words are implied by the ideas they convey; it goes without saying that it should be simple, vapid, and strictly limited—definitely no purple notes or shrill colors.”

“That’s awful! Not being able to add a few rhetorical flourishes once in a while . . .”