Théocrine knows things that are very useless; his feelings are always singular; he is less profound than methodical; he only exercises his memory; he is abstract, disdainful, and he always seems to be laughing inside himself at people who he thinks are not worth enough to be laughed at. By chance, I read my work to him, and he listened. Once I was done, he talked to me about his. "And what did he think about yours?" you ask me. -- I already told you, he talked to me about his.