But wait until the summer comes, the freedom to recreate new dreams, the peace and quiet, with no other roof than clouds over your head, no thoughts of how to spend money, how to dress, how to exercise.
If I can suffer deeply, then drive away my sorrow, if I can dream, relive my emotions, come out of ecstasy only to fall into confusion and puzzlement, and learn to love yet another poet, as I did today—then I won’t regret that day!
Perhaps my feelings are absurd, I think so and I shall stop. All that makes me feel like crying and I contain myself only with great difficulty. I can’t explain this state of mind.
If I can suffer deeply, then drive away my sorrow, if I can dream, relive my emotions, come out of ecstasy only to fall into confusion and puzzlement, and learn to love yet another poet, as I did today—then I won’t regret that day!
This is the hour I love best, the hour when so often I write my Diary. Twilight. At twilight my heart melts into the heart of nature. The calmness, the softness, the mystic beauty of it penetrate into my very being like the sweet notes of a poem or a song.
I don’t aspire to anything, I just want to be allowed to think and contemplate the landscape and to be left to read in peace, that’s the truth. I prefer not to think unless I am alone. When I am alone I read, I think and I write.
a long white silk dress trimmed with lace, short sleeves, a long string of pearls, and over all, a long sky-blue coat with white fur trimming fastened across the bosom by a wide band of diamonds.
But wait until the summer comes, the freedom to recreate new dreams, the peace and quiet, with no other roof than clouds over your head, no thoughts of how to spend money, how to dress, how to exercise.
But wait until the summer comes, the freedom to recreate new dreams, the peace and quiet, with no other roof than clouds over your head, no thoughts of how to spend money, how to dress, how to exercise.
When I read a book, I discuss it with myself, I criticize it, find its faults, its qualities, and I begin to think about things that are so deep that I get lost, get tired, and I don’t understand myself any more.
Sometimes I have feelings that I can’t explain, impulses that I can’t control, impressions that I can’t sort out, dreams, thoughts that are different from everything that has gone before.