I have to look back on the course of my life to find the earliest reason for all that is happening to me now.

Perhaps I am wrong in saying "the earliest reason," since the truth is that all my life I have been prone to be driven and guided by my feelings.

Even today, in this rush of things that I must perform, I let myself be guided very often-in fact almost always-primarily by what I feel.

Reason, with me, often has to give way to emotion; and so, to explain the life I lead today, that is to say, what I am doing now out of motives that spring from the bottom of my heart, I have to go back and search through my earliest years for the first feelings that make sense, or at least explain, what to those severe critics is "an incomprehensible sacrifice," but which to me is neither sacrifice nor incomprehensible.

I have discovered a fundamental feeling in my heart which completely governs my spirit and my life. That feeling is my indignation when confronted with injustice.

Ever since I can remember, all injustice has hurt my soul as though something were stabbing it. Memories of injustices against which I rebelled at every age still rankle.

I remember very well how sad I was for many days when I first realized that there were rich in the world, and the strange thing is that the fact of the existence of the poor did not me so much as the knowledge that, at the same time, the rich existed.