I admired in others the strength that I lacked myself.

I encountered among my comrades the most varied human traits, from frankness to reserve, from goodness, uprightness and kindness, to brutality and baseness.

I admired in others the strength that I lacked myself.

But my doubt would not be overcome. Kierkegaard had declared that it was only to the consciousness of sin that Christianity was not horror or madness. For me it was sometimes both.

It gradually dawned upon me that there was no one more difficult to please than my mother.

That a literature in our time is living is shown in that way that it debates problems.

On the whole, the world was friendly. It chiefly depended on whether one were good or not.