|I feel an extraordinary ability welling in me. I am convinced that had I so desired, I could become a great doctor, or lawyer, or financier, or engineer. But that would require two things time to study, and the resolve to spurn literature. Now, is this a delusion? Do I overestimate myself? Or is it a natural occurence for every littérateur I mean, a power possessed by every littérateur. All practical matters seem easy to me. I acknowledge that despite my conviction, it is true that without time, without enough time, I will not able to become a successful man in the practical world. But then since I grant myself the time do I not fall in the general category; by spending enough time, any man, even of mediocre mental powers, can succeed. Or maybe not; and what makes me superior is my sense that I would require far lesser time. That does not prevent me from knowing that I would never become a successful man in the practical fields, because it seems impossible to me to uproot from my innards my hankering for literature except with an effort which would nearly break my soul. And now another thought crosses my mind: perhaps this ability of mine which manifests itself by the apparent facility of the practical fields derives from literature, from incessant thinking, from the sharpening of imagination. If it were possible to make the effort without damage, and spurn Imagination, then perhaps I would lose my powers, and the practical fields would seem to me as difficult as they seem to the common folk. But I dont believe this. The ability is there. My weakness or power, if you suppose that artistic work is worthwhile is precisely my inability to spurn literature, or, more correctly, the sensual agitation of imagination.