my sufferings
were to be endless, I could not bear them to be without meaning. Now I
find hidden somewhere away in my nature something that tells me that
nothing in the whole world is meaningless, and suffering least of all.
That something hidden away in my nature, like a treasure in a field, is
Humility.

It is the last thing left in me, and the best: the ultimate discovery at
which I have arrived, the starting-point for a fresh development. It has
come to me right out of myself, so I know that it has come at the proper
time. It could not have come before, nor later. Had any one told me of
it, I would have rejected it. Had it been brought to me, I would have
refused it. As I found it, I want to keep it. I must do so. It is the
one thing that has in it the elements of life, of a new life, _Vita
Nuova_ for me. Of all things it is the strangest. One cannot acquire
it, except by surrendering everything that one has. It is only when one
has lost all things, that one knows that one possesses it.

Now I have realised that it is in me, I see quite clearly what I ought to
do; in fact, must do. And when I use such a phrase as that, I need not
say that I am not alluding to any external sanction or command. I admit
none. I am far more of an individualist than I ever was. Nothing seems
to me of the smallest value except what one gets out of oneself. My
nature is seeking a fresh mode of self-realisation. That is all I am
concerned with. And the first thing that I have got to do is to free
myself from any possible bitterness of feeling against the world.

I am completely penniless, and absolutely homeless. Yet there are worse
things in the world than that. I am quite candid when I say that rather
than go out from this prison with bitterness in my heart against the
world, I would gladly and readily beg my bread from door to door. If I
got nothing from the house of the rich I would get something at the house
of the poor. Those who have much are often greedy; those who have little
always share. I would not a bit mind sleeping in the cool grass in
summer, and when winter came on sheltering myself by the warm
close-thatched rick, or under the penthouse of a great barn, provided I
had love in my heart. The external things of life seem to me now of no
importance at all. You can see to what intensity of individualism I have
arrived--or am arriving rather, for the journey is long, and 'where I
walk there are thorns