My favorite thing in the world is a quiz show, 'University

Hear the voice of Lynne Truss, spoken with humor yet carrying the weight of deeper meaning: “My favorite thing in the world is a quiz show, ‘University Challenge,’ so you can see what kind of sad person I am.” At first glance, it may seem a lighthearted jest, but beneath it lies a truth about the human spirit and its love of knowledge. For in every age, the pursuit of wisdom has been both praised and mocked, admired and misunderstood. To delight in contests of the mind is to step away from the fleeting pleasures of the world and to embrace instead the eternal fire of learning.

The show she names, ‘University Challenge,’ is no idle entertainment but a modern tournament of intellect. It recalls the ancient debates of philosophers in Athens, where men and women gathered in the agora to test wit against wit, idea against idea. To some, this devotion to the life of the mind appears “sad”—as though seriousness, study, and curiosity were somehow inferior to the loud amusements of the crowd. Yet in her jest, Truss reveals pride: for though she wears the cloak of self-mockery, she confesses openly her love for wisdom’s game.

History, too, remembers such souls. Consider Archimedes of Syracuse, who cared not for the pomp of kings but for the mysteries of numbers and shapes. When Roman soldiers came to conquer his city, he is said to have been found drawing figures in the sand. To some, this seemed absurd—a man of genius so consumed by geometry that he neglected his own safety. Yet though the world may call such a man “sad,” it is from his so-called sadness that civilizations have drawn their strength. For from Archimedes came the principles that built engines, raised ships, and advanced the progress of humankind.

Truss’s remark touches on this eternal paradox: the lovers of wisdom often appear strange in the eyes of the world. The crowd may laugh at the scholar hunched over books, the scientist lost in thought, the competitor who thrills at questions few others care to answer. Yet it is these “sad” ones who push the boundaries of understanding, who preserve knowledge through the ages, who remind us that the mind is not a burden but a gift. Sadness, in this sense, becomes a badge of honor, for it shows devotion to something greater than passing fashion.

And so we learn that joy wears many faces. Some find it in wealth, others in fame, others in the pleasures of the body. But those who find it in contests of the mind, in the careful solving of riddles, in the beauty of a well-placed answer, have discovered a joy that endures. For wealth may fade, and fame may sour, but the delight of the intellect is a fountain that renews itself with every question asked and every truth uncovered.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not be ashamed if the world calls you “sad” for loving what is noble. If your heart leaps at knowledge, if your spirit rejoices in learning, then you have chosen a path that will enrich you beyond measure. Make time to sharpen your mind as others sharpen their swords. Read, listen, question, and engage in the great dialogues of life. Even if the world mocks you, stand firm, for the laughter of the crowd is brief, but the rewards of wisdom endure across generations.

Thus let Truss’s words be both a smile and a summons. Laugh, yes, at the small absurdities of our passions—but also honor them. If your joy lies in the pursuit of knowledge, then cultivate it with pride. For in the end, those who love wisdom may be called “sad,” but they are also the ones who leave behind the brightest lights for others to follow. And that is no sadness at all, but the truest kind of triumph.