I once knew a man who had already been kneeling on the sand-heap, the muskets aimed at him, and--he was pardoned. I have often seen him. Oh that I had asked him how he lived on!
There is no mirror in my room. I have determined never to see myself again.
And since I neither have, nor desire a mirror, let these pages be the mirror of my soul.
Oh this repose! this solitude! It is like rising from the lake, like life regained. And yet how calm, how restful!
Up here, and in thousands of other places on this earth, 'twas ever thus, while, down below, I was about to commit a fearful sin!
I have just returned from the workshop. Formerly, when making excursions from the summer palace into the surrounding country, we would stop at the industrial villages and visit the large workshops, where everything was shown us. I used to feel a sense of shame--ah! that was long ago--at the thought of our merely looking on for a moment, while others were working. And when we returned to our carriages and drove off, leaving the men still at their work, what must they have thought of us?