Monday, August 21:
Now one last good-morning from the forest hut! — It’s grey. All packed. But not yet the book. — I’m coming nearer to you. Tomorrow I shall be able to telegraph to you. — Here you have ten days out of my life. As these have been, so are all. A flickering into flame — delight — good spirits — wonderful pleasure. — Then long agony; everything seeming in vain. Soon a state so unbearable that one had to force oneself to think about changing it. But the fact that once again I learn to realize this clearly is the good thing about such experiments. Remote from you, I have come closer and closer. That is what I feel! You are my one and all. If only you will come again, then all will be well! —
Adieu, mountain forest summit! — Lonely but firm! Step out, step out! That’s what’s needed! — Farewell, Jupiter! Farewell! I salute you. 5 a.m.