"As for the mother, she was studying the titles of the books which were piled on Carl’s work table. Impulsively she singled one out and handed it to the man. It was the last volume of Proust’s celebrated work. The man turned from the book to survey Carl with new eyes. There was a fleeting, grudging deference in his expression. Carl, somewhat embarrassed, explained that he was at work on an essay intended to show the relation between Proust’s metaphysic and the occult tradition, particularly the doctrine of Hermes Trismegistus, whom he was enamored of."

Carl is both a clown and a genius, I swear! What a cunt, I am still laughing!