I am all in a sea of wonders; I doubt; I fear; I think strange things which I dare not tell to my own soul. And yet I must not be weak; there is work for me to do, and others to help, and I will be of use.

I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me… If it were I who were to be always young, and the picture that were to grow old!

How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June… If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that—for that—I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!

I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.