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1. To Carthage I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves bubbled up
all around me. I loved not as yet I loved to love; and with a hidden
want, I abhorred myself that I wanted not. I searched about for
something to love, in love with loving, and hating security, and a
way not beset with snares. For within me I had a dearth of that
inward food, Thyself, my' God, though that dearth caused me no
hunger; but I remained without all desire for incorruptible food, not
because I was already filled thereby, but the more empty I was the
more I loathed it. For this reason my soul was far from well, and,
full of ulcers, it miserably cast itself forth, craving to be excited
by contact with objects of sense. Yet, had these no soul, they would
not surely inspire love. To love and to be loved was sweet to me, and
all the more when I succeeded in enjoying the person I loved. I
befouled, therefore, the spring of friendship with the filth of
concupiscence, and I dimmed its lustre with the hell of lustfulness;
and yet, foul and dishonourable as I was, I craved, through an
excess of vanity, to be thought elegant and urbane. I fell
precipitately, then, into the love in which I longed to be ensnared.
My God, my mercy, with how much bitterness didst Thou, out of Thy
infinite goodness, besprinkle for me that sweetness! For I was both
beloved, and secretly arrived at the bond of enjoying; and was
joyfully bound with troublesome ties, that I might be scourged with
the burning iron rods of jealousy, suspicion, fear, anger, and
strife.
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