“I don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t feel like walking - it is tiring; I don’t feel like lying down, for either I would lie down for a long time, and I don’t feel like doing that, or I would get up right away, and I don’t feel like that either - I don’t feel like riding - the motion is too vigorous for my apathy; I don’t feel like doing anything except just taking a drive, indolently, smoothly undulating along, letting objects in abundance glide by, pausing at every beautiful spot merely to feel my listlessness - my ideas and impulses are just as barren as a eunuch’s desire.”
