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65. Where hast Thou not accompanied me, O Truth,' teaching me
both what to avoid and what to desire, when I submitted to Thee what
I could perceive of sublunary things, and asked Thy counsel? With
my external senses, as I could, I viewed the world, and noted the
life which my body derives from me, and these my senses. Thence I
advanced inwardly into the recesses of my memory, the manifold
rooms, wondrously full of multitudinous wealth; and I considered and
was afraid, and could discern none of these things without Thee, and
found none of them to be Thee. Nor was I myself the discoverer of
these things, I, who went over them all, and laboured to
distinguish and to value everything according to its dignity, accepting
some things upon the report of my senses, and questioning about others
which I felt to be mixed up with myself, distinguishing and numbering
the reporters themselves, and in the vast storehouse of my memory
investigating some things, laying up others, taking out others.
Neither was I myself when I did this (that is, that ability of mine
whereby I did it), nor was it Thou, for Thou art that
never-failing light which I took counsel of as to them all, whether
they were what they were, and what was their worth; and I heard Thee
teaching and commanding me. And this I do often; this is a delight
to me, and, as far as I can get relief from necessary duties, to
this gratification do I resort. Nor in all these which I review when
consulting Thee, find I a secure place for my soul, save in Thee,
into whom my scattered members may be gathered together, and nothing of
me depart from Thee.' And sometimes Thou dost introduce me to a
most rare affection, inwardly, to an inexplicable sweetness, which,
if it should be perfected in me, I know not to what point that life
might not arrive. But by these wretched weights. of mine do I
relapse into these things, and am sucked in by my old customs, and am
held, and sorrow much, yet am much held. To such an extent does the
burden of habit press us down. In this way I can be, but will not;
in that I will, but cannot, on both ways miserable.
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