“I have many homes, some that I have not seen yet. Maybe that is why I am restless; I have not yet known all of my homes”

“I am amazed to see how deliberately I have entangled myself step by step. To have seen my position so clearly, and yet to have acted so like a child!”

“How clearly I have seen my condition, yet how childishly I have acted. How clearly I still see it, and yet show no sign of improvement.”

“I have known many of those pretended champions for liberty in my time, yet do I not remember one that was not in his heart and in his family a tyrant.”

“I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?”

“Sometimes, looking at the many books I have at home, I feel I shall die before I come to the end of them, yet I cannot resist the temptation of buying new books. Whenever I walk into a bookstore and find a book on one of my hobbies — for example, Old English or Old Norse poetry — I say to myself, “What a pity I can’t buy that book, for I already have a copy at home.”