Monday, 7 May 1877

Fidelity is a selfish feeling that ceases to exist the moment it would have been a merit.
The past is only a memory and is therefore a kind of present. The future does not exist. Let us not quibble over this by saying that the instant in which I speak is already far behind me; by the present one means today, tomorrow, a week from now. This leads me to say that one should hold nothing back and regret nothing; does one live for the future? And does one gain anything by giving oneself a sad present in order to build up joys that exist only as hopes...
It is only shut up in this room, with the left bank of the Arno before my eyes, that I understand all the divine beauty of Naples.
You know... they talked about Larderel again, saying that he had courted Lucie Durand. That annoys me, and seriously. How can all this be serious? And yet it is serious.
How dismal! Florence is impossible like this!
No doubt Lewin, travelling like a prince, with two pretty women, fifty candles, gambling, wines... I do not envy that for myself, but I note the causes of the success of... those women. Lucie with her spare beauty, her black hair, her black eyes, her black dresses, her lace... Oh! certainly... whereas here... a respectable household and a girl who is silly, pale, awkward...
Ah! my God, when will you deliver me from this life.