But there it is.

He is very busy all the time.

Something doing always, never still, except when you will find him by the road-side, or in a tavern with all the people round him, talking, jesting, and he himself going into a trance with his book of philosophy.

It is very strange that everlasting going, going, going, and yet that love of his book.

I sometimes think it is all pretence, and that he is all vanity--or almost so.