I don't want to say anything because I know I am unable to protect you from the harm that I see.

I have been back in Paris for two weeks. Nothing new. Life is still bitter.

I would prefer to have a more appealing job. If I could still change careers, I would prefer it. This unfortunate art is made for long beards and ugly faces rather than for a relatively well-endowed woman.

Don't fear anything for your letters, they are burnt one by one and I hope you do the same with mine.

Madhouses are houses made on purpose to cause suffering . . . I cannot stand any longer the screams of these creatures.

I took all my wax studies and threw them in the fire that's the way it is when something unpleasant happens to me. I take my hammer and I squash a figure.

I am not feeling any better because I cannot stay in bed, having constant cause for walking. They say I leave at night by the window of my tower, hanging from a red umbrella with which I set fire to the forest!