at nineteen, and now I know that I analyzed at three.
And at the age of nineteen I know that I am a genius.
A genius who does not know that he is a genius is no genius. A drunken man might stagger up to a piano and accidentally play music that vibrates to the soul—that touches upon the mysteries. But he does not know his power, and he is no genius, though men awaken and go mad therefrom.
I know that I am a genius more than any genius that has lived.
I have a feeling that the world will never know this.
And as I think of it I wonder if angels are not weeping somewhere because of it.
