He was one of those men with a gamey taste in excitement. For such fellows the quieter social pleasures are not enough. Neither do the ordinary problems of living suffice to meet their gluttony for drama. Only a way of life which gives them a continual sense of action can keep them in good running order. If they can’t find it, they degenerate into great lovers or some other form of artificially compensated nonsense.
(Dear Mr. Myers Myers: This condition happens to women, too, apparently. I’m not interested in packing a six-shooter and playing crooked card games. I just want to be a storybook pirate like Pippi Longstocking.)