Wednesday, 9 January 1884

I am tempted to return to the God of rewards, because I have repainted the cap on the left in the picture and it seems to me very good.
I write letters: one to the architect in which I say "a member of your family whom delicacy — and even decency — prevent me from naming" — her, and I am doubled over with laughter; and another to Nadine on the death of her husband, and I weep hot tears. Both within the space of five minutes. I do not know whether I boast of it — but I have a nature so varied and so strange that I could be one of the happiest creatures in the universe, if... I could hear well.