I could not invest them in colors, as I pleased. They came of themselves, taking possession of me, governing me and shaping my life.
I was secure in so far as the outside world was concerned.
I was afraid of no one. My schoolfellows had learned to recognize that, and observed a secret respect towards me, which often caused me to smile.
When I wished, I could penetrate most of them with a look, thereby surprising them occasionally.
Only, I seldom or never wanted to do this. It was my own self which occupied my attention, always myself.
And yet I longed ardently to live a bit of real life, to give something of myself to the world, to enter into contact and battle with it.
Sometimes as I wandered through the streets in the evening and could not, through restlessness, return home before midnight,
I thought to myself: Now I cannot fail to meet my beloved, I shall overtake her at the next corner, she will call to me from the next window.
Sometimes all this seemed to torture me unbearably, and I was quite prepared to take my own life some day.
At that time I found a peculiar refuge—by “chance,” as one says.
But really such happenings cannot be attributed to chance.
When a person is in need of something, and the necessary happens, this is not due to chance but to himself;
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