O my God, my God! Here I am dying.... A heart capable of loving and
ready to love will soon cease to beat.... And can it be it will be
still for ever without having once known happiness, without having once
expanded under the sweet burden of bliss? Alas! it's impossible,
impossible, I know.... If only now, at least, before death--for death
after all is a sacred thing, after all it elevates any being--if any
kind, sad, friendly voice would sing over me a farewell song of my own
sorrow, I could, perhaps, be resigned to it. But to die stupidly,
stupidly....

I believe I'm beginning to rave.

Farewell, life! farewell, my garden! and you, my lime-trees! When the
summer comes, do not forget to be clothed with flowers from head to
foot ... and may it be sweet for people to lie in your fragrant shade,
on the fresh grass, among the whispering chatter of your leaves,
lightly stirred by the wind. Farewell, farewell! Farewell, everything
and for ever!

Farewell, Liza! I wrote those two words, and almost laughed aloud. This
exclamation strikes me as taken out of a book. It's as though I were
writing a sentimental novel and ending up a despairing letter....

To-morrow is the first of April. Can I be going to die to-morrow? That
would be really too unseemly. It's just right for me, though ...

How the doctor did chatter to-day.