A very elementary exercise in psychology, not to be dignified by the name of psycho-analysis, showed me, on looking at my notebook, that the sketch of the angry professor had been made in anger. Anger had snatched my pencil while I dreamt. But what was anger doing there? Interest, confusion, amusement, boredom--all these emotions I could trace and name as they succeeded each other throughout the morning. Had anger, the black snake, been lurking among them? Yes, said the sketch, anger had.

What a lark! What a plunge!

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

more and more I come to loathe any dominion of one over another; any leadership, any imposition of the will.

I am rooted, but I flow.

I ransack public libraries & find them full of sunk treasure.

One likes people much better when they're battered down by a prodigious siege of misfortune than when they triumph.