“My illusions about the world caused me to think that in order to benefit by my reading I ought to possess all the knowledge the book presupposed. I was very far indeed from imagining that often the author did not possess it himself, but had extracted it from other books, as and when he needed it. This foolish conviction forced me to stop every moment, and to rush incessantly from one book to another; sometimes before coming to the tenth page of the one I was trying to read I should, by this extravagant method, have had to run through whole libraries. Nevertheless I stuck to it so persistently that I wasted infinite time, and my head became so confused that I could hardly see or take in anything.”

“The indolence I love is not that of a lazy fellow who sits with his arms across in total inaction, and thinks no more than he acts, but that of a child which is incessantly in motion doing nothing, and that of a dotard who wanders from his subject. I love to amuse myself with trifles, by beginning a hundred things and never finishing one of them, by going or coming as I take either into my head, by changing my project at every instant, by following a fly through all its windings, in wishing to overturn a rock to see what is under it, by undertaking with ardor the work of ten years, and abandoning it without regret at the end of ten minutes; finally, in musing from morning until night without order or coherence, and in following in everything the caprice of a moment.”

“How could I become wicked, when I had nothing but examples of gentleness before my eyes, and none around me but the best people in the world?”

“I have entered upon a performance which is without example, whoseaccomplishment will have no imitator. I mean to present myfellow-mortals with a man in all the integrity of nature; and this manshall be myself.I know my heart, and have studied mankind; I am not made like any one Ihave been acquainted with, perhaps like no one in existence; if notbetter, I at least claim originality, and whether Nature did wisely inbreaking the mould with which she formed me, can only be determined afterhaving read this work.Whenever the last trumpet shall sound, I will present myself before thesovereign judge with this book in my hand, and loudly proclaim, thus haveI acted; these were my thoughts; such was I. With equal freedom andveracity have I related what was laudable or wicked, I have concealed nocrimes, added no virtues; and if I have sometimes introduced superfluousornament, it was merely to occupy a void occasioned by defect of memory:I may have supposed that certain, which I only knew to be probable, buthave never asserted as truth, a conscious falsehood. Such as I was, Ihave declared myself; sometimes vile and despicable, at others, virtuous,generous and sublime; even as thou hast read my inmost soul: Powereternal! assemble round thy throne an innumerable throng of myfellow-mortals, let them listen to my confessions, let them blush at mydepravity, let them tremble at my sufferings; let each in his turn exposewith equal sincerity the failings, the wanderings of his heart, and, ifhe dare, aver, I was better than that man.”

“I was not much afraid of punishment, I was only afraid of disgrace.But that I feared more than death, more than crime, more than anything in the world. I should have rejoiced if the earth had swallowed me up and stifled me in the abyss. But my invincible sense of shame prevailed over everything . It was my shame that made me impudent, and the more wickedly I behaved the bolder my fear of confession made me. I saw nothing but the horror of being found out, of being publicly proclaimed, to my face, as a thief, as a liar, and slanderer.”

“The sword wears out its sheath, as it is sometimes said. That is my story. My passions have made me live, and my passions have killed me. What passions, it may be asked. Trifles, the most childish things in the world. Yet they affected me as much as if the possessions of Helen, or the throne of the Universe, had been at stake.”

“I believed that I was approaching the end of my days without having tasted to the full any of the pleasures for which my heart thirsted...without having ever tasted that passion which, through lack of an object, was always suppressed. ...The impossibility of attaining the real persons precipitated me into the land of chimeras; and seeing nothing that existed worthy of my exalted feelings, I fostered them in an ideal world which my creative imagination soon peopled with beings after my own heart.”