Sienkiewicz, Henryk, 1846-1916 / 2008-07-04 00:00:00

In regard to myself, I like well-bred people,--people with
brains and nerves, and look for them where they are most readily
found. I like them as I like works of art, fine scenery, and beautiful
women. From an aesthetic point of view, I possess refined nerves,--too
refined, perhaps, owing to my early training and a naturally
impressionable temperament. This aesthetic sensitiveness gives me
as many delights as torments, and renders me one great service: it
preserves me from cynicism or otherwise extreme corruption, and serves
me instead of moral principle. I recoil from many things, not because
they are wicked, but because they are ugly. From my aesthetic nerves I
derive also a certain delicacy of feeling. Taken all in all, it seems
to me that I am a man a little marred by life, decent enough though to
say the truth, rather floating in mid-air because not supported by any
dogma, either social or religious. I am also without an aim to which I
could devote my life.
One word more about my abilities before concluding the synthesis. My
father, my aunt, my colleagues, and sometimes strangers, consider them
simply prodigious. I allow that my intellect has a certain glitter.
But will the _improductivite Slave_ scatter all the hopes invested in
me? Considering all I have, or rather have not done up to this day,
either for others or myself, I feel inclined to think that such
will be the case.
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