I have now no _storage_[58] of nervous force.

When I expend what I have, in an afternoon, nothing remains.

I look to quiet, to a simple mode of existence, to nature in all the infinite meanings of an infinite word, to charge the cells for me.

Every day, if I meet a friend, or write a letter longer than a few lines, or even read a book that makes, as all fine books do, a direct claim on me, a direct appeal, an intellectual challenge of any kind, I am utterly exhausted in the evening, and often sleep badly.

And yet it is three whole weeks since I was released.
Had I gone with you on the driving tour, where we would have of necessity been in immediate contact with each other from dawn to sunset, I would have certainly broken off the tour the third day, probably broken down the second.