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12. O madness, which knowest not how to love men as men should be
loved! O foolish man that I then was, enduring with so much
impatience the lot of man So I fretted, sighed, wept, tormented
myself, and took neither rest nor advice. For I bore about with me a
rent and polluted soul, impatient of being borne by me, and where to
repose it I found not. Not in pleasant groves, not in sport or
song, not in fragrant spots, nor in magnificent banquetings, nor in
the pleasures of the bed and the couch, nor, finally, in books and
songs did it find repose. All things looked terrible, even the very
light itself; and whatsoever was not what he was, was repulsive and
hateful, except groans and tears, for in those alone found I a little
repose. But when my soul was withdrawn from them, a heavy burden of
misery weighed me down. To Thee, O Lord, should it have been
raised, for Thee to lighten and avert it. This I knew, but was
neither willing nor able; all the more since, in my thoughts of
Thee, Thou wert not any solid or substantial thing to me. For Thou
wert not Thyself, but an empty phantasm and my error was my god. If
I attempted to discharge my burden thereon, that it might find rest,
it sank into emptiness, and came rushing down again upon me, and I
remained to myself an unhappy spot, where I could neither stay nor
depart from. For whither could my heart fly from my heart? Whither
could I fly from mine own self? Whither not follow myself? And yet
fled I from my country; for so should my eyes look less for him where
they were not accustomed to see him. And thus I left the town of
Thagaste, and came to Carthage.
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