Sunday, October 7:
All sorts of business matters in the morning; R. works. He says to me: “Oh, these key signatures! One must take very good care not to become untidy!”
At midday arrival of Isolde! Everyone early to bed in the evening. I am somewhat worn out; we do not read, but talk about all and sundry, things and people, and R. ends the conversation with the words, “I stick exclusively to the greatest thing that has happened to me - nothing else means a thing to me, nothing, neither man nor woman.”