I began life in the Middle Ages, as I shall prove, and here am I still, your contemporary in the twentieth century, thrilling with your latest thought.
Had I no better excuse for writing, I still might be driven to it by my private needs.

It is in one sense a matter of my personal salvation.

I was at a most impressionable age when I was transplanted to the new soil.

I was in that period when even normal children, undisturbed in their customary environment, begin to explore their own hearts, and endeavor to account for themselves and their world.

And my zest for self-exploration seems not to have been distracted by the necessity of exploring a new outer universe.