I am scared; I don't know what is going to happen to me. What was the point of working so hard and of being talented, to be rewarded like this? Never a penny, tormented all my life. It is horrible; one cannot imagine it.

There is always something missing that torments me.

I have all sorts of problems and feel discouraged.

Last night, two men tried to force my shutters. I recognized them: they are two of Rodin's Italian models. He told them to kill me. I am in his way; he wants to get rid of me.

I have fallen into an abyss. I live in a world so curious, so strange. Of the dream that was my life, this is my nightmare.

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

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