"Ah! if you knew how I have treated the human race this morning," I
said to M---- in answer to a remark I no longer remember.

"Ah! if you knew how little it cares! it is a matter of no
importance," replied M----, very wittily.

How dreary it is to have nobody to care for!

My head is heavy and my eyes are closing, yet at the same time I
want to write more, the pen glides easily over the paper and, though
I might have nothing to say, I go on for the pleasure of filling the
white pages and hearing the pleasant scratching of the pen.

"My head is heavy and my eyelids close,
Yet still my gliding pen I will not stay,
Fain would I tell all my heart's joys and woes,
But cannot--though so much have I to say."

I am not successful with serious poetry.


Sunday, October 10th, 1875.

I was going to talk with my aunt, but why appeal to human beings?
What can men do? God alone can help! God does not hear me! Just God!
Holy Virgin! Jesus! I am not worthy to be heard, but I pray you for
it on my knees, I pray so earnestly! Is not prayer a merit, however
small it may be? Do not the most unworthy obtain what they ask
through prayer? Is it nothing to believe and to turn to God? And
though I should write until to-morrow I could say nothing but the