"My imagination knows no peace, my heart no satisfaction. I'm never satisfied. I grow used to sorrow as easily as I do pleasure, and my life gets emptier every day. The only thing left for me is to travel . . . Not for Europe, though, not on your life. I'll go to America, Arabia, India. With luck I'll die somewhere on the way. At least I can be sure that with storms and bad roads to help this final solace will last me a while."