a particular odor) each night, these and
other things disgust me and make me sick of living thus.

"Everything repeats itself endlessly. The way in which I put my key in
the lock, the place where I always find my matches, the first object
which meets my eye when I enter the room, make me feel like jumping out
of the window and putting an end to those monotonous events from which we
can never escape.

"Each day, when I shave, I feel an inordinate desire to cut my throat;
and my face, which I see in the little mirror, always the same, with soap
on my cheeks, has several times made me weak from sadness.

"Now I even hate to be with people whom I used to meet with pleasure; I
know them so well, I can tell just what they are going to say and what I
am going to answer. Each brain is like a circus, where the same horse
keeps circling around eternally. We must circle round always, around the
same ideas, the same joys, the same pleasures, the same habits, the same
beliefs, the same sensations of disgust.

"The fog was terrible this evening. It enfolded the boulevard, where the
street lights were dimmed and looked like smoking candles. A heavier
weight than usual oppressed me. Perhaps my digestion was bad.

"For good digestion is everything in life. It gives the inspiration to
the artist, amorous desires to young people, clear ideas to thinkers, the
joy of life to everybody, and it also allows one to eat heartily (which
is one of the greatest pleasures). A sick stomach induces scepticism
unbelief, nightmares and the desire for death. I have often noticed this
fact. Perhaps I would not kill myself, if my digestion had been good this
evening.

"When I sat down in the arm-chair where I have been sitting every day for
thirty years, I glanced around me, and just then I was seized by such a
terrible distress that I thought I must go mad.

"I tried to think of what I could do to run away from myself. Every
occupation struck me as being worse even than inaction. Then I bethought
me of putting my papers in order.

"For a long time I have been thinking of clearing out my drawers; for,
for the last thirty years, I have been throwing my letters and bills
pell-mell into the same desk, and this confusion has often caused me
considerable trouble. But I feel such moral and physical laziness at the
sole idea of putting anything in order that I have never had the courage
to begin this tedious business.

"I therefore opened my desk, inte