If, attempting to render these permanent, I am amused in describing to myself, what glow of coloring, what energy of expression, do I give them!--It has been said, that all these are to be found in my works, though written in the decline of life.
Oh! had those of my early youth been seen, those made during my travels, composed, but never written!--Why did I not write them?
will be asked; and why should I have written them?
I may answer.

Why deprive myself of the actual charm of my enjoyments to inform others what I enjoyed?
What to me were readers, the public, or all the world, while I was mounting the empyrean.

Besides, did I carry pens, paper and ink with me?
Had I recollected all these, not a thought would have occurred worth preserving.

I do not foresee when I shall have ideas; they come when they please, and not when I call for them; either they avoid me altogether, or rushing in crowds, overwhelm me with their force and number.

Ten volumes a day would not suffice barely to enumerate my thoughts; how then should I find time to write them?
In stopping, I thought of nothing but a hearty dinner; on departing, of nothing but a charming walk; I felt that a new paradise awaited me at the door, and eagerly leaped forward to enjoy it.
Never did I experience this so feelingly as in the perambulation I am now describing.