What I most regret, is not having kept a journal of my travels,
being conscious that a number of interesting details have slipped my
memory; for never did I exist so completely, never live so thoroughly,
never was so much myself, if I dare use the expression, as in those
journeys made on foot. Walking animates and enlivens my spirits; I can
hardly think when in a state of inactivity; my body must be
exercised to make my judgment active. The view of a fine country, a
succession of agreeable prospects, a free air, a good appetite, and
the health I gain by walking; the freedom of inns, and the distance
from everything that can make me recollect the dependence of my
situation, conspire to free my soul, and give boldness to my thoughts,
throwing me, in a manner, into the immensity of beings, where I
combine, choose, and appropriate them to my fancy, without
constraint or fear. I dispose of all nature as I please; my heart
wandering from object to object, approximates and unites with those
that please it, is surrounded by charming images, and becomes
intoxicated with delicious sensations. If, attempting to render
these permanent, I am amused in describing to myself, what glow of
coloring, what energy of expression, do I give them!- It has been
said, that all these are to be found in my works, though written in
the decline of life. Oh! had those of my early youth been seen,
those made during my travels, composed, but never written!- Why did
I not write them? will be asked; and why should I have written them? I
may answer.
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