In those boyhood's years, however, I revelled in ideas of greatness to
come which had not so far received a shock. And I was in no doubt as to
the domain in which when grown up I should distinguish myself. All my
instincts drew me towards Literature. The Danish compositions which
were set at school absorbed all my thoughts from week to week; I took
the greatest pains with them, weighed the questions from as many sides
as I could and endeavoured to give good form and style to my
compositions. Unconsciously I tried to find expressions containing
striking contrasts; I sought after descriptive words and euphonious
constructions. Although not acquainted with the word style in any other
sense than that it bears in the expression "style-book," the Danish
equivalent for what in English is termed an "exercise-book," I tried to
acquire a certain style, and was very near falling into mannerism, from
sheer inexperience, when a sarcastic master, to my distress, reminded
me one day of Heiberg's words: "The unguent of expression, smeared
thickly over the thinness of thoughts."