It was one of the nights in the rainy season in March, the four-and-twentieth year of my first setting foot in this island of solitude, I was lying in my bed or hammock, awake, very well in health, had no pain, no distemper, no uneasiness of body, nor any uneasiness of mind more than ordinary, but could by no means close my eyes, that is, so as to sleep; no, not a wink all night long, otherwise than as follows: It is impossible to set down the innumerable crowd of thoughts that whirled through that great thoroughfare of the brain, the memory, in this night’s time.
Huszonnegyedik szigeti évemben az esős évszak egyik márciusi éjszakáján éppen a függőágyamban feküdtem testben és lélekben egyaránt egészségesen, de sehogyan sem jött álom a szememre. Nehéz leírni a gondolatoknak azt az áradatát, amely az elmémben kavargott azon az éjszakán.