But By The Time That I Had

While We Are Young The Idea Of Death Or Failure Is Intolerable To Us; Even The Possibility Of Ridicule We Cannot Bear.

What Is Man, When You Come To Think Upon Him, But A Minutely Set, Ingenious Machine For Turning With Infinite Artfulness, The Red Wine Of Shiraz Into Urine?

I Was Young, And By Instinct Of Self-preservation I Had To Collect My Energy On Something, If I Were Not To Be Whirled Away With The Dusk On The Farm-roads, Or The Smoke On The Plain. I Begun In The Evenings To Write Stories, Fairy-tales, And Romances, That Would Take My Mind A Long Way Off, To Other Countries And Times.

Now, Looking Back On My Life In Africa, I Feel That It Might Altogether Be Described As The Existence Of A Person Who Had Come From A Rushed And Noisy World, Into A Still Country.

The Best Of My Nature Reveals Itself In Play, And Play Is Sacred.