there was deep enjoyment in the long-drawn breath,
the spring of the foot, in the act of rapid movement. Never have I had
enough of it; I wearied long before I was satisfied,
and weariness did not bring a cessation of desire; the thirst was still
there. I rowed, I used the axe, I split tree-trunks with wedges; my arms
tired, but my spirit remained fresh and chafed against the physical
weariness. My arms were not
strong enough to satisfy me with the axe, or wedges, or oars. There was
delight in the moment, but it was not enough. I swam,
and what is more delicious than swimming? It is exercise and luxury at once.
But I could not swim far enough; I was always dissatisfied with myself on
leaving the water.
Nature has not given me a great frame, and had it done so I should still
have longed for more. I was out of doors all day, and often half the night;
still I wanted more sunshine, more air, the hours were too short. I feel
this even more now than in the violence of early youth: the hours are too
short, the day should be sixty hours long. Slumber, too, is abbreviated and
restricted; forty hours of night and sleep would not be too much. So little
can be accomplished in the longest summer day, so little rest and new force
is accumulated in a short eight hours of sleep.

I live by the sea now; I can see nothing of it in a day; why, I
do but get a breath of it, and the sun sinks before I have well
begun to think. Life is so little and so mean. I dream sometimes backwards
of the ancient times. If I could have the bow of Ninus, and the earth full
of wild bulls and lions, to hunt them down, there would be rest in that. To
shoot with a gun is nothing; a mere touch discharges it. Give me a bow, that
I may enjoy the delight of feeling myself draw the string and
the strong wood bending, that I may see the rush of the arrow, and the broad
head bury itself deep in shaggy hide. Give me an iron mace that I may crush