I bought a memory stick at lunchtime.  It is literally much less than half the size of my little finger.

I’m not an expert in translating gigabytes into their equivalent in words, paragraphs and pages.  But I’m pretty sure that this tiny thing could quite easily accommodate everything that I’ve written in my working lifetime

That makes me feel pretty small.  And only very marginally cheered by the thought that it could accommodate everything that, say, Shakespeare, Dickens and Tolstoy wrote in their working lifetimes too.