and outward vocation and endeavour, my true life-destiny and my apparent
life-aim were still, however, in a state of separation, and indeed of
conflict, of which I had not the remotest conception. My resolve held
firm to make architecture my profession; it was purely as a future
architect that I took leave of all my companions.

At the end of April 1805, with peace in my heart, cheerfulness in my
soul, an eager disposition, and a mind full of energy, I quitted my old
surroundings. The first days of an unusually lovely May (and I might
here again recall what I pointed out above, that my inner and personal
life invariably went familiarly hand in hand with external Nature) I
spent with a friend, as a holiday, in the best sense of the word. This
was a dear friend of mine, who lived on an exceedingly finely-situated
farm in the Uckermark.[35] Art had improved the beauty of the somewhat
simple natural features of the place, in the most cunningly-devised
fashion. In this beautiful, retired, and even solitary spot, I flitted,
as it were, from one flower to another like a very butterfly. I had
always passionately loved Nature in her adornments of colour and of dewy
pearls, and clung to her closely with the gladsomeness of youth. Here I
made the discovery that a landscape which we look upon in sympathetic
mood shines with enhanced brilliancy; or as I put the truth into words
at the time, "The more intimately we attach ourselves to Nature, the
more she glows with beauty and returns us all our affection." This was
the first time my mind had ventured to give expression to a sentiment
which thrilled my soul. Often in later life has this phrase proved
itself a very truth to me. My friend one day begged me to write
something in his album: I did so unwillingly. To write anything borrowed
went against me, for it jarred with the relations existing between me
and the book's owner; and to think of anything original was a task I
felt to be almost beyond my powers. However, after long thinking it over