human
I wish, he says,
gpt
I could give you even a tolerable account of what I have done; but I don't know how it is, both my mind and heart appear to have lain for some time completely fallow, and even the usual crop of _wild oats_ has not been forthcoming. What is the reason of this? I believe there is in every man's life (at least in every man who has lived as if he knew how to live) one blank interval, which takes place at that period when the gay desires of youth are just gone off, and he has not yet made up his mind as to the feelings or pursuits that succeed them--when the last blossom has fallen away, and yet the fruit continues to look harsh and unpromising--a kind of _interregnum_ which takes place upon the demise of love, before ambition and worldliness have seated themselves upon the vacant throne.