Many of my years — perhaps twelve — had passed away since my nineteenth, when, upon the reading of Cicero's Hortensius, I was roused for a desire for wisdom. And here I was, still postponing the abandonment of the world's happiness to devote myself to the search. For not just the finding alone, but also the bare search for it, ought to have been preferred above the treasures and kingdoms of this world; better than all bodily pleasures, though they were to be had for the taking. But, wretched youth that I was — supremely wretched even in the outset of my youth — I had entreated chastity of you and had prayed, "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet." For I was afraid that you might hear me too soon, and too soon cure me of the disease of lust which I desired to have satisfied rather than extinguished.

—Augustine, Confessions