Thursday, February 18:
Such nice dreams about Jesuits and Princess Wittgenstein; a very bad night! Wrote letters, to Lovedou and Mathilde. Great weariness.
After lunch R. plays from Die Walküre, the ending, and I am literally overcome. Dear God! This work!
Its influence pervades my whole day. Everything else I have to do is done as if in a dream; all that lives within me is these sounds and these words.
Whoever believes profoundly receives the reward for his faith in the form of delicious hope. As, today, I became so profoundly aware of how much I believe in R., in his mission in life, in his genius, in his kindness, in his love, there gradually arose in me out of my glowing emotions, unshakable though shadowed by unspeakable suffering, a gentle feeling, pale and tender as the new moon rising over a glowing sunset. It spoke, not of fortune or success, not of rest and joy, either. Undefined and silent, it swelled up from my most intense feelings as that fairest of rewards, sweet hope.