Tuesday, January 2:
Lulu had a tolerable night. Departure of our nephew in fine sunshine. Letter from Richter. The piano tuner comes; R. prepares himself to start on his third act. This makes me boundlessly happy, indeed lighthearted, in spite of my concern over Lusch; and since the very splendid weather gives us a view of the gleaming mountains, which we have long been without, we go for a walk, I almost overpowered by my high spirits. We return home and drink tea with Lulu, she herself having to consume much lime-blossom tea, 'for he who will not hear must feel, he who has a cold must sweat,' R. tells her.
I stay with Lulu, but promise R. to go downstairs. Since, worried about Lulu's delirious ramblings, I cannot do this, R. comes up to me and is offended; so offended that he reproaches me with not having understood his desire for my presence downstairs. In the evening he improvises wonderfully, and when I am in bed he comes to me and asks me to forgive his anger. I have to forgive him for anything! ... He says it would be better if we did not love each other so, for then he would not torment me so much. Recently we had a long talk about love and being in love; he said the latter often occurred without the former, and that was very bad, but the former without the latter was a play of the imagination and possessed no power. One needed both together, but that was a miracle, so rare is it. He writes to Dr. Standhartner and Kafka.