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And with love one can live even without happiness. Life is good even in sorrow, it's good to live in the world, no matter how.

I made up adventures and devised a life for myself so as to live, at least somehow, a little.

I was then already bearing the underground in my soul. I was terribly afraid of somehow being seen, met, recognized.

Apart from reading I had nowhere to turn—that is, there was nothing I could then respect in my surroundings, nothing I would be drawn to.

At home, to begin with, I mainly used to read. I wished to stifle with external sensations all that was ceaselessly boiling up inside me. And among external sensations the only one possible for me was reading. Reading was, of course, a great help—it stirred, delighted, and tormented me.