I was continually repeating something, and am really amazed that the fatigue of these vain and continual efforts did not render me entirely stupid.

I must have learned and relearned the Eclogues of Virgil twenty times over, though at this time I cannot recollect a single line of them.

I have lost or spoiled a great number of books by a custom I had of carrying them with me into the dove-house, the garden, orchard or vineyard, when, being busy about something else, I laid my book at the foot of a tree, on the hedge, or the first place that came to hand, and frequently left them there, finding them a fortnight after, perhaps, rotted to pieces, or eaten by the ants or snails; and this ardor for learning became so far a madness that it rendered me almost stupid, and I was perpetually muttering some passage or other to myself.
The writings of Port-Royal, and those of the Oratory, being what I most read, had made me half a Jansenist, and, notwithstanding all my confidence, their harsh theology sometimes alarmed me.

A dread of hell, which till then I had never much apprehended, by little and little disturbed my security, and had not Madam de Warrens tranquillized my soul, would at length have been too much for me.

My confessor, who was hers likewise, contributed all in his power to keep up my hopes.