28 March 1881 – 3 April 1881

I cannot work; I find it difficult to exist. One may be glad to let one’s friends spoil one for a few months; it is an experience which is good for us all; but afterward? How much better to make room for the living, the active, the productive. “Tircis, voici le temps de prendre sa retraite.” Is it that I care so much to go on living? I think not. It is health that I long for—freedom from suffering. And this desire being vain, I can find no savor in anything else. Satiety. Lassitude. Renunciation. Abdication. “In your patience possess ye your souls.”