most natural to me. I feel as, when a suffering child, I would go and lie with my face to the ground, to sob away my little life.’
‘In early years, when, though so frank as to the
thoughts of the mind, I put no heart confidence in
any human being, my refuge was in my journal. I
have burned those records of my youth, with its bitter
tears, and struggles, and aspirations. Those aspirations
were high, and have gained only broader foundations
and wider reach. But the leaves had done their
work. For years to write there, instead of speaking,
had enabled me to soothe myself; and the Spirit was
often my friend, when I sought no other. Once again
I am willing to take up the cross of loneliness.
Resolves are idle, but the anguish of my soul has been
deep. It will not be easy to profane life by rhetoric.’
‘I woke thinking of the monks of La Trappe; — how
could they bear their silence? When the game of life
was lost for me, in youthful anguish I knew well the
desire for that vow; but if I had taken it, my heart
would have burned out my physical existence long ago.’
‘Save me from plunging into the depths to learn the
worst, or from being led astray by the winged joys of
childish feeling. I pray for truth in proportion as there
is strength to receive.’
‘My law is incapable of a charter. I pass all bounds,
and cannot do otherwise. Those whom it seems to me
I am to meet again in the Ages, I meet, soul to soul,
now. I have no knowledge of any circumstances
except the degree of affinity.’
