I did then. It was both an agonizing time and a good one. Never again, either before or since, did I attain to such heights of thought, or peer into the beyond, as I did at that time, for a period of two years. And all that I discovered then I shall remain convinced of forever. I can't do otherwise. From two years of mental activity I discovered something old and simple, but something I now know in a way no one else does—I discovered that there is immortality, that there is love, and that one must live for others in order to be happy for all eternity. These discoveries amazed me by their resemblance to the Christian religion, but instead of discovering them for myself, I began to look for them in the Gospels, and found little. I didn't find God, or the Redeemer, or the sacraments, nothing; and I searched with all, absolutely all the powers of my soul, and wept, and tormented myself, and craved for nothing but the truth. For goodness sake, don't think you can even remotely understand from my words all the power and concentration that went into my searchings at the time. It's one of those mysteries of the soul that are in all of us, but I can say that I've rarely met in other people such a passion for truth as I had at that time. And so I've stayed with my religion, and it has been good to live with it…

My soul is so cold and arid that it's frightening. There's no point in living. These thoughts came home to me with such force yesterday, when I began to question myself in earnest: who do I do good to? Whom do I love?—no one! And there isn't even any grief or tears for myself. Even repentance is cold. So is reasoning. Only work remains. But what is work?—empty trifles! You dawdle along and fuss about, while your heart contracts, shrivels up and dies.