His last years were spent morbidly; he suffered torments and ran from place to place like one hunted; but really always running from himself.

Rome was his favourite refuge, and he returned to it again and again.

In 1848, he made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, but he could find no peace for his soul.

Something of this mood had reflected itself even much earlier in the Memoirs of a Madman: "Oh, little mother, save your poor son! Look how they are tormenting him....

There's no place for him on earth! He's being driven!...