I'll have to tell them, that's all,—it is nothing to be ashamed of. They'll have to give me some money in advance. I can not live in that cesspool.
Yes, to-morrow and half of the next day,—that is all I will bear!
—I long sometimes to go and see them; but no, I can wait.
July 17th.
I treated myself to a long holiday this afternoon. I went up to the park, and walked and walked. Everything was in a tumult within me—I was clear of that last prison. And all the excitement and the power of that poem are still in me. I am restless, all on fire, stern, hungry, like a wind-storm. Come not near me unless you wish for truth! Come not near me if you fear the gods!
To-day my thoughts went surging into the future. I shall have money!—I shall be free!—And what shall I do next? I counted up what I might have—even a slight success for the book would mean a fortune such as turned my head to think of. What would I do?
My mind pounced upon a new work—a work that I have dreamed of often. Would it be my next work? I thought—would I be able—would I dare? It is a grand thing.