Any change in one’s usual routine is always received by the spirit as a chilly novelty, a slightly uncomfortable pleasure. Anyone who leaves the office at five o’clock when he’s in the habit of leaving at six is bound to experience a mental holiday, and a feeling like regret for not knowing what to do with himself.

Yesterday I left the office at four, as I had to take care of some business far away, and by five o’clock I was through with it. I’m not used to being out on the streets at that hour, and I found that I was in a different city. The soft light on the usual façades was uselessly tranquil, and the usual pedestrians passed by in the city next to me, like sailors who’d disembarked from last night’s ship.

I returned to the office, which was still open, and my colleagues were naturally astonished, as I’d already bid farewell for the day. What? You’re back? Yes, I’m back. There, all alone with those familiar faces who don’t exist for me spiritually, I was free from having to feel. It was in a certain sense home – the place, that is, where one doesn’t feel.