A Recluse Without Books And Ink Is

My Home Is Where I Work, And I Work Everywhere.

I Am A Misanthrope And Yet Utterly Benevolent, Have More Than One Screw Loose Yet Am A Super-idealist Who Digests Philosophy More Efficiently Than Food.

For Me Writing Biographies Is Impossible, Unless They Are Brief And Concise, And These Are, I Feel, The Most Eloquent.

It Is My Express Wish That In Awarding The [nobel Prizes] No Consideration Be Given To The Nationality Of The Candidates, But That The Most Worthy Shall Receive The Prize, Whether He Be Scandinavian Or Not.

To His Sister-in-law: What A Contrast Between Us! You Live A Warm And Glowing Life, Surrounded By Loved Ones Whom You Care For And Who Care For You; You Are Anchored In Contentment. I Drift About Without Rudder Or Compass, A Wreck On The Sea Of Life; I Have No Memories To Cheer Me, No Pleasant Illusions Of The Future To Comfort Me, Or About Me To Satisfy My Vanity. I Have No Family To Furnish The Only Kind Of Survival That Concerns Us, No Friends For The Wholesome Development Of My Affections, Or Enemies For My Malice.