So I burnt my midnight lamp, and filled my mind with a conglomeration of images entirely unsuited to my mental digestion; and no one can say what they would have bred in me, besides headache and nervousness, had they not been so soon dispelled and superseded by a host of strong new impressions.

For these readings ended with my visit, which was closely followed by the preparations for our emigration.
On the whole, then, I do not feel that I was seriously harmed by my wild reading.

I have not been told that my taste was corrupted, and my morals, I believe, have also escaped serious stricture.

I would even say that I have never been hurt by any revelation, however distorted or untimely, that I found in books, good or poor; that I have never read an idle book that was entirely useless; and that I have never quite lost whatever was significant to my spirit in any book, good or bad, even though my conscious memory can give no account of it.
One lived, at Uncle Solomon's, not only one's own life, but the life of all around.

My uncle, when he returned after a short absence, had stories to tell and adventures to describe; and I learned that one might travel considerably and see things unknown even in Vitebsk, without going as far as America.