It soothes my vanity.
When you read this Portrayal you will admire me. You will surely have to admire me.
And so this is life, and everything matters.
But just now I will stop writing and go downstairs to my dinner. There is a porterhouse steak, broiled rare, and some green young onions. Oh, they are good! And when one is to have a porterhouse steak for one’s dinner—and some green young onions, one doesn’t give a tupenny dam whether anything else matters or not.
[March 19.]
ON A day when the sky is like lead and a dull, tempestuous wilderness of gray clouds adds a dreariness to the sand, there is added to the loneliness of my life a deep bitterness of gall and wormwood.
Out of my bitterness it is easy for bad to come.
Surely Badness is a deep black pool wherein one may drown dullness and Nothingness.
I do not know Badness well. It is something material that seems a great way off now, but that might creep nearer and nearer as I became less and less young.