part of my time, they did not occupy it altogether. I made many
acquaintances in the literary and artistic world, and lived their
life, or rather I live it still. Prompted by innate curiosity I read
very much, and as I have the faculty of assimilating what I read, I
may say that I derived considerable benefit from it and am able to
keep step with every intellectual movement of the time.

My consciousness of self is highly developed. At times I feel inclined
to send that second self to the devil, that self which does not permit
yielding to any sensation, but is always there, searching, criticising
every action, feeling, delight, or passion. "Know thyself" may be a
wise maxim, but to carry about one's self an ever watchful critic
deadens the feeling, dividing as it were your soul in two parts. To
exist in a state of mind like this is about as easy as for the bird
to fly with one wing. Besides, selfconsciousness too much developed
weakens the power of action. But for this, Hamlet would have made a
hole in his uncle in the first act, and with the greatest composure
taken possession of the throne.

As far as I am concerned, it sometimes protects me or saves me
from heedless slips, yet more often tires me, preventing absolute
concentration upon one point of action. I carry within me two
beings,--the one that protests and criticises, the other leading only
half a life, losing gradually all power of decision. I am afraid I
shall never free myself from that yoke; on the contrary, the more my
mind expands, the more minute will be the knowledge of self, and even
on my deathbed I shall not leave off criticising the dying Ploszowski
unless disease has fogged my brain.

I must have inherited from my father a synthetic mind, because I