May 3rd
In other years also the spring was sad. There was always that exquisite lovely poignant sadness of spring.
These days are too beautiful. It seems as if one could not bear them.
I think it is because so much beauty makes one want happiness.
One cannot understand, in such loveliness, why one is not happy.
Something is asked of us that we cannot answer.
I remember Roselyne's saying, long before there was war, one sunset, down by the sea in the south—
"So much happiness would be needed to fill the beauty of the day."