Friday, February 7:
Springlike weather. Went for a walk with the children in the morning and with R. in the afternoon (Rollwenzel). Great inner weariness, longings for death. The sight of the theater now actually offends me. “Perhaps something still unforeseen will come along,” R. says, “since the known factors on which we built have so completely deserted us.”
Read Gibbon. In the night I am beset by a congestion of the heart which drives me to R. It gives up after a little while, but I am left feeling very limp.