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January […]3. (Mildness of the weather.)
The nun and her complexion; and how piety makes one live.
“In departing from nature,” they repeat incessantly. Ah! say rather: in departing from one’s duties.
January […]4.
— Every word there comes from an idea that, in dissipating, has left nothing of itself but this remnant, but this vestige.
The Hebrews alone had an invisible god. Among them there was a footstool for the Lord’s feet; but they thought those feet could not be seen.
January […]5. (The thermometer at eleven degrees.)
The colors of prose and its openings of the mouth.
January […]6.
Such a style is possible only for those who have such thoughts, such subjects, such a talent.
It is not easy to understand oneself, as Fontenelle intimated when he said of himself: “I have always tried to understand myself.” And it is above all in what is movement on the soul’s part that it is difficult to know precisely what one means. One then has to paint something that is truly moving. If one has not caught it all at once, one must return to it several times.
[—] was telling me that I wanted to use all thoughts and dispense with all words. The observation is just.
The grass that sprouts moves the earth and leaves traces of this movement around its root. Look at the meadows.
January 17.
Memory and rhythm.
January 18.
To respect death. The death of others, one’s own. It is a serious thing, which must be done with reflection and which one must think about while doing it.
It is a key; whether it is gold or iron, what does it matter? it is fit to open.