[March 26.]
NOW and again I have torturing glimpses of a Paradise. And I feel my soul in its pain every moment of my life. Otherwise, how gladly would I deny the existence of a soul and a life to come!
For my soul is beset with Nothingness, and the Paradise that shows itself is not for me.
[March 28.]
HATRED, after all, is the easiest thing of all to bear.
If you have been forgotten by the one who must have made you, and if you have been left alone of human beings all your life—all your nineteen years—then, when at last you see some one looking toward you with beautiful eyes, and extending to you a beautiful hand, and showing you a beautiful heart wherein is just a little of beautiful sympathy for you—for you—oh, that is harder than anything to bear. Harder than the loneliness and the bitterness—and the tears are nearer and nearer.
But one would be hurt often, often for the sake of the beautiful things. Yes, one would gladly be hurt long and often.
I shall never forget how it was with me when I first saw the beautiful eyes of my dearest anemone lady when they were looking gently—at me—and the beautiful hand, and the beautiful heart.
The awakening of my racked soul is hardly more heavily laden with passion and pain. I shall never forget.