Friday, September 1:
No! It is not until tomorrow that is she going to Segszad. — ‘Father says we are staying on till Saturday in Budapest.’ Father says ‘I need to recover’. ‘We are going to Venice.’ And at the same time keeping on making herself believe I wanted to hurt her; probably didn’t love her at all! In the end your father’s right, — he told me a year ago of course ‘it would turn out like this, — He would treat me with contempt!’ —
Oh, to have to bear this insanity!! — It is so ignoble, so unworthy to brood over such things. But what is left to him who is abandoned, lonely, childishly misjudged? —
I know, — you'll realize it, violently, passionately, and beautifully! — But it was possible, and will again become possible! — And from Rome will come letters again, — and everything will be just so again — and me? — I shall finally come to hate my Friend completely! I do not believe in his love. He has never loved. He who loves can complain, and does not enter into special relationship with the Good God. The pious man does not love: what matters to him is simply domination. I know what I am saying. To me all this Catholic rubbish is repugnant to the very depths of my soul: anyone who takes refuge in that‘? must have a great deal to atone for. Once you revealed it to me, speaking in a dream: it was dreadful. Your father is repugnant to me. — and when I was able to bear him, there was more Christianity in my blind indulgence than in all his piety. — You need recuperation, also distraction — don’t you? — Don’t talk to me of your love!