Friday, June 10:
R. had a good night and goes to work in the morning, after reading Count Gobineau’s book (Dogm. phil.). The weather is raw, overcast, and cold; a planet is said to have come too near. This leads to far-reaching reflections. We discuss the Count’s ideas and finally come to Schopenhauer. That he would like to be “sonfi,” and once mentioned it to R. in a humorous way for the Count.
We snatch a breath of air in the garden together, then he works, and I ask him to write down the Greek sentence for me. Enclosed in the diaries is a sheet of paper bearing the words, “dien aristeuein kai hypertaton emmenai allon” [always to be brave and of all beings the best], referring to the blank left on June 9.
In the evening we chat together, and as I go off to sleep, I hear R.’s final words, “My dear wife’s love keeps me alive, nothing else.” R. has demanded a precise explanation following Seidl’s telegram.