But I did not find any positive inspiration in my studies until I approached my nineteenth year.
A love for humanity came over me, and watered and fertilised the fields of my inner world which had been lying fallow, and this love of humanity vented itself in a vast compassion.
I admired in others the strength that I lacked myself.
I was at home then in the world of figures, but not in that of values.
Dostoevsky preaches the morality of the pariah, the morality of the slave.
I did not know what it was to be happy for a whole day at a time, scarcely for an hour.