"No one has my form but the I."
Schoppe, in JEAN PAUL'S Titan.

"Joy's a subtil elf.
I think man's happiest when he forgets himself."
CYRIL TOURNEUR, The Revenger's Tragedy.

On the third day of my journey, I was riding gently along a road,
apparently little frequented, to judge from the grass that grew upon
it. I was approaching a forest. Everywhere in Fairy Land forests are the
places where one may most certainly expect adventures. As I drew near, a
youth, unarmed, gentle, and beautiful, who had just cut a branch from a
yew growing on the skirts of the wood, evidently to make himself a bow,
met me, and thus accosted me:

"Sir knight, be careful as thou ridest through this forest; for it is
said to be strangely enchanted, in a sort which even those who have been
witnesses of its enchantment can hardly describe."

I thanked him for his advice, which I promised to follow, and rode on.
But the moment I entered the wood, it seemed to me that, if enchantment
there was, it must be of a good kind; for the Shadow, which had been
more than usually dark and distressing, since I had set out on this
journey, suddenly disappeared. I felt a wonderful elevation of spirits,
and began to reflect on my past life, and especially on my combat
with the giants, with such satisfaction, that I had actually to remind
myself, that I had only killed one of them; and that, but for the
brothers, I should never have had the idea of attacking them, not to
mention the smallest power of standing to it. Still I rejoiced, and
counted myself amongst the glorious knights of old; having even the
unspeakable presumption--my shame and self-condemnation at the memory
of it are such, that I write it as the only and sorest penance I can
perform--to think of myself (will the world believe it?) as side by side
with Sir Galahad!