This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1920. Excerpt: ... VIII My Dear Boy, You seat yourself at your desk with a sigh, to see if the madness will return. I am here immediately and you must write. You shake your head, but await with interest to see what your hand will write. These are extraordinary days and you go about and are almost convinced that you have been dreaming, and yet you are more indifferent than one would expect, and you ponder less. This is not remarkable, for I am with you all the time. You are as I wish you to be. I follow you on your way to town, I give you your suggestions, I place you at your desk and I calm you. That which you have heard is strange, but it has not yet fully possessed you, for you are such a godless fellow. When I tell you about God's smile, your heart trembles, but it is partly your literary heart that glows. For you have not yet comprehended in the least the great, the marvelous, the incomprehensible experience that you have had, and it will be some time before you understand it and comprehend it deep down in your soul. But so let it be, for I have much to tell you and we must get to work. This is still a mere game for you and when you go about doubting and almost forgetting the jest in which you engage at home at your desk, you are a quite natural phenomenon. For you have been deeply moved in your soul, your heart has beaten wildly in your body, you have shed streams of tears and, sobbing with joy, you have laid your head on your arm on the desk before you. You have never before experienced anything like this, you have never before been so moved, and at times you perceive the abyss that yawns before you. You know that you can never be yourself again, as you were before I came. You know that if I forsook you now your life would end. Note how you are chilled at the mere tho...