An Unusual Beginning Must Have An Unusual

My Love Had Grown One With My Soul; It Became Darker, But Did Not Go Out

Passions Are Merely Ideas In Their Initial Stage.

When We Retire From The Conventions Of Society And Draw Close To Nature, We Involuntarily Become Children: Each Attribute Acquired By Experience Falls Away From The Soul, Which Becomes Anew Such As It Was Once And Will Surely Be Again.

I Was Modest--they Accused Me Of Being Crafty: I Became Secretive. I Felt Deeply Good And Evil--nobody Caressed Me, Everybody Offended Me: I Became Rancorous. I Was Gloomy--other Children Were Merry And Talkative. I Felt Myself Superior To Them--but Was Considered Inferior: I Became Envious. I Was Ready To Love The Whole World--none Understood Me: And I Learned To Hate.

The History Of A Man's Soul, Even The Pettiest Soul, Is Hardly Less Interesting And Useful Than The History Of A Whole People; Especially When The Former Is The Result Of The Observations Of A Mature Mind Upon Itself, And Has Been Written Without Any Egotistical Desire Of Arousing Sympathy Or Astonishment. Rousseau's Confessions Has Precisely This Defect – He Read It To His Friends.