There is but one solitude, and that is great, and not easy to bear, and to almost everybody come hours when they would gladly exchange it for any sort of intercourse, however banal and cheap, for the semblance of some slight accord with the first comer ... But perhaps those are the very hours when solitude grows; for its growing is painful ... But that must not mislead you. The necessary thing is after all but this: solitude, great inner solitude. Going-into-oneself and for hours meeting no one -- this one must be able to attain. To be solitary, the way one was solitary as a child ... Think of the world you carry within you ... What goes on in your innermost being is worthy of your whole love ...
No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.