Only wild food, and too little of that, found with much seeking and got with many hurts.

Birds screamed at and scolded me; branches bruised and thorns scratched me; and still worse were the angry clouds of waspish things no bigger than flies.

Buzz--buzz! Sting--sting! A serpent's tooth has failed to kill me; little do I care for your small drops of fiery venom so that I get at the spoil--grubs and honey.

My white bread and purple wine! Once my soul hungered after knowledge; I took delight in fine thoughts finely expressed; I sought them carefully in printed books: now only this vile bodily hunger, this eager seeking for grubs and honey, and ignoble war with little things! A bad hunter I proved after larger game.

Bird and beast despised my snares, which took me so many waking hours at night to invent, so many daylight hours to make.