It is warm, I am alive, I am calm and sad, I hardly know why. In this existence so even, so tranquil, and so gentle as I have here, I am in an element that weakens me morally while strengthening me physically; and I fall into melancholies of honey and roses which are nonetheless melancholy. It seems to me that all those I love to forget me, and that it is justice, because I live a selfish life having nothing to do for any one of them.