know what to ask. If in moments of intoxication I felt something

which, though not a wish, was a habit left by former wishes, in

sober moments I knew this to be a delusion and that there was

really nothing to wish for. I could not even wish to know the

truth, for I guessed of what it consisted. The truth was that life

is meaningless. I had as it were lived, lived, and walked, walked,

till I had come to a precipice and saw clearly that there was

nothing ahead of me but destruction. It was impossible to stop,