sh habits that tyrannized over me. I have served him
faithfully, in requital for the services he has done me. I nursed him
carefully, and now he is quite well again.

I am not so selfish, after all; for I have gained the friendship of
good human beings. But I cannot do good to those who do not concern me.
I belong to myself and to an infinitely small circle; beyond that I
cannot go.

*

When I sit here in silence and solitude, and look at the one room in
which I live and hope to die, I sometimes give way to horrible fits of
depression. Here is my chair, my table, my workbench, my bed. These are
mine until I am laid in the grave; but there is not one human soul that
belongs to me.

I feel so oppressed, at such moments, that I would like to cry out
aloud, and it is with difficulty that I regain my composure. Work,
however, aids me.

*

For one brief hour, I have imagined myself possessed of omniscience.

It was yesterday morning, during the hour from eleven until twelve. A
light sun-shower passed over us, and then all grew bright again, and,
in my mind's eye, I saw how thousands of beings were spending that
hour. I saw the laborer in the forest, the king in his cabinet, the
sewing-woman in her garret, the miner in the shaft, the bird on the
tree, the lizard on the rock. I saw the child sitting in school, and
the dying old man drawing his last breath. I saw the ship, the coquette
rouging herself, and the poor working-woman weeding in the fields. I
saw all--everything. I passed one hour of infinity.

And now I am fettered again--a small, isolated, miserable, stammering
child. The one great thought of eternity passes like a fugitive through
my mind, and finds no resting-place there. I must again hold fast to
trifles.

I shall return to my workbench.

I have read, somewhere, that the Arabians wash their hands before
prayer; when in the desert, where they can find no water, they wash
them in sand and dust. The dust of labor purifies us.

*

The masses should have no books, but should talk with, and listen to,
each other.

Books serve to isolate man; that which is told us by word of mouth is
far more potent.

*

The teachings--or, rather, the experiences--of a ruined worldling have
two things in their favor. She who has gone astray has become observant
of everything, an