“When I’ve finished my education (I’m allowing myself another six years for that), I shall, if I’m allowed, join the students and professors who go on an annual cruise to the Middle East. I should like to extend my knowledge on certain points,” he says unctuously, “and I should also like something unexpected, something new to happen to me – adventures in fact.”
He has lowered his voice and assumed a roguish expression.
“What sort of adventures” I ask him in surprise.
“Why, all sorts, Monsieur. Getting on the wrong train. Stopping in an unknown town. Losing your wallet, being arrested by mistake, spending the night in prison. Monsieur, it seems to me that you could define adventure as an event which is out of the ordinary without being necessarily extraordinary. People talk of the magic of adventures. Does that expression strike you as accurate?”
— Sartre, Nausea, p 56