Part of the process of recovering from my long sickness was to find delight in little things, in things unconnected with books and problems, in play, in games of tag in the swimming pool, in flying kites, in fooling with horses, in working out mechanical puzzles. As a result, I grew tired of the city. On the , in the Valley of the Moon, I found my paradise. I gave up living in cities. All the cities held for me were music, the theatre, and Turkish baths.  
And all went well with me. I worked hard, played hard, and was very happy. I read more fiction and less fact. I did not study a as much as I had studied in the past. I still took an interest in the fundamental problems of existence, but it was a very cautious interest; for I had burned my fingers that time I clutched at the veils of Truth and them from her. There was a bit of lie in this attitude of mine, a bit of ; but the lie and the hypocrisy were those of a man desiring to live. I blinded myself to what I took to be the of biological fact. After all, I was merely forswearing a bad habit, a bad frame of mind. And I repeat, I was very happy. And I add, that in all my days, measuring them with cold, considerative , this was, far and away beyond all other periods, the happiest period of my life.
 
But the time was at hand, rhymeless and reasonless so far as I can see, when I was to begin to pay for my score of years of with John Barleycorn. Occasionally guests journeyed to the ranch and remained a few days. Some did not drink. But to those who did drink, the absence of all alcohol on the ranch was a hardship. I could not violate my sense of hospitality by compelling them to endure this hardship. I ordered in a stock—for my guests.
 
I was never interested enough in to know how they were made. So I got a bar-keeper in Oakland to make them in bulk and ship them to me. When I had no guests I didn't drink. But I began to notice, when I finished my morning's work, that I was glad if there were a guest, for then I could drink a with him.
 
Now I was so clean of alcohol that even a single cocktail was of pitch. A single cocktail would glow the mind and a laugh for the few minutes prior to sitting down to table and starting the process of eating. On the other hand, such was the strength of my stomach, of my resistance, that the single cocktail was only the of a glow, the faintest tickle of a laugh. One day, a friend and shamelessly suggested a second cocktail. I drank the second one with him. The glow was longer and warmer, the laughter deeper and more . One does not forget such experiences. Sometimes I almost think that it was because I was so very happy that I started on my real drinking.
 
I remember one day Charmian and I took a long ride over the mountains on our horses. The servants had been dismissed for the day, and we returned late at night to a jolly chafing-dish supper. Oh, it was good to be alive that night while the supper was preparing, the two of us alone in the kitchen. I, personally, was at the top of life. Such things as the books and ultimate truth did not exist. My body was gloriously healthy, and healthily tired from the long ride. It had been a splendid day. The night was splendid. I was with the woman who was my mate, picnicking in gleeful abandon. I had no troubles. The bills were all paid, and a surplus of money was rolling in on me. The future ever-widened before me. A............