If he were a fish, he would certainly swim only in the ocean, never
coming to the narrow seas, and particularly not to the flat waters
of earthly rivers. Around him here there rest or dart hither and
thither the little fishes: what he says does not interest them, is not
necessary to them, and his silence does not frighten or move them. Yet
his silence is impressive like that of a real hermit driven out from
this world. Though he speaks a great deal and as a duty upon certain
subjects, his silence is felt to be still greater. Certain things one
cannot tell to anyone. Surely he has some thoughts of which he is
afraid.