I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.

I am racking my brains to find out why he left without saying goodby to me.

There is only one thing I want. I would like to be seriously ill, and to hear nothing more about him for at least a week. Why doesn't something happen to me? Why do I have to go through all this? If only I had never set eyes on him!

I am so infinitely happy that he loves me so much, and I pray that it will always be like this. It won't be my fault if he ever stops loving me.

When he says he loves me, it only means he loves me at that particular instant. Like his promises, which he never keeps. Why does he torment me like this, when he could finish it off at once?

Perhaps he wanted to be alone with Dr. G., who was here, but he should have let me know. At Hoffmann's I felt I was sitting on hot coals, expecting him to arrive every moment.

Today I bought two lottery tickets, because I had a feeling that it would be now or never - they were both blanks. So I am not going to be rich after all. Nothing at all to be done about it.