At night, when I look up into the vast, starry vault, with its myriad glittering orbs, I find it difficult to sit or to walk. I think of the nights when, lying back in my carriage, I drove out into the wide world and looked up at the stars. How free everything was then! I am still much affected by trifles.
There are days when I cannot endure the forest, when I do not wish for shade. I must then have the sun--nothing but light and sunshine. At such times, I walk along the hot and shadeless meadow paths.
I now have a window-shelf filled with flower-pots. How different when one has to wait for the flowers to come up, instead of receiving them in full bloom from the gardener.
The evenings are my enemy--always heavy and dull. Morn is my friend, for then everything is bright. How different it once was!
The mental state of those who are out in the world may be likened to the physical condition of Baroness Constance. There is a constant ringing in her ears, and she knows nothing of holy repose or perfect silence. It is not until one ceases to know anything of the world, or to care for it, that this mental ringing in the ears ceases, and holy repose and calm are vouchsafed us. Every sound which then enters is as a marvel.