one who said that had surely gone out on the highways and byways and found how little he could understand.
To understand oneself is not so brave a thing. To go in among the hidden gray shadows of the deep things is a fool's errand. It is not from choice that I do it. No one carries a mill-stone around her neck from choice. When I see what is among the hidden gray shadows—when I see a vision of Myself—I am seized with a strange, sick terror.
A fool's errand—but one that I must need go—and for that matter I myself am a fool.
Yet to know oneself well is a rare fine art.
I analyze myself now. I analyzed myself when I was three years old.
The only difference is that at the age of three I was not aware that I analyzed. It is true, that is a great difference. Now I know that I am analyzing
