“Mama, scold me please!”
“What for?”
“They say I’m a weakling.”
“Do they? A weakling…. I don’t think I need scold you about that any more.”
Mama’s goodness is unsurpassed. Whenever I think of her, I want to cry. I will die by way of apology to Mama.
Please forgive me. Just this once, please forgive me.
(New Year’s Poem)
The years!
Still quite blind
The little stork-chicks
Are growing up.
Ah! how they fatten!
Morphine, atromol, narcopon, philipon, panto-pon, pabinal, panopin, atropin.
What is self-esteem? Self-esteem!
It is impossible for a human being—no, a man—to go on living without thinking “I am one of the élite,” “I have my good points,” etc.
I detest people, am detested by them.
Test of wits.
Solemnity = feeling of idiocy.
Anyway, you can be sure of one thing, a man’s got to fake just to stay alive.
A letter requesting a loan:
“Your answer.
Please answer.
And in such a way that it will be good tidings for me.
I am moaning to myself in the expectation of humiliations of every sort.
I am not putting on an act. Absolutely not.
I beg it of you.
I feel as if I will die of shame.
I am not exaggerating.
Every day, every day, I wait for your answer; night and day I tremble all over.
Do not make me eat dirt.