Monday, 4 May 1874

I have just read yesterday; why can one not write as one thinks! I believed that ellipses and exclamation marks would suffice to express the various feelings. Who will invent the art of transmitting onto paper the slightest thoughts, the sighs, the various emotions that pass through one’s head? of reflecting, as in a mirror, everything one thinks and everything one feels?
I thought I would recover my memories of yesterday, my heartbeats, in short the portrait of what was happening within me, and I find nothing but paper and ink upon it!!!
Georges is drunk.
Maman has seen 55 -- the cypresses felled -- she wept over it... it will pass. I am looking particularly well, white and pink and translucent. Everyone has noticed.