Aside from a cold appreciation of my own genius I felt that I was a modest man.

A 1961 Aerospace Medicine paper included a fine example, from the diary of a French anthropologist who spent four months in the Arctic with a Hudson's Bay fur trader:
   "I liked Gibson as soon as I saw him...He was a man of poise and order, he took life calmly and philosophically...But as winter closed in around us, and week after week our world narrowed until it was reduced to the dimensions of a trap...I began to rage inwardly and the very traits...which in the beginning had struck me as admirable, ultimately seemed to me detestable. The time came when I could no longer bear the sight of this man who was unfailingly kind to me. That calm which I had once admired I now called laziness, that philosophic imperturbability became in my eyes insensitiveness. The meticulous organization of his existence was maniacal old-manliness. I could have murdered him."