Ich hörte auf, oberflächlich zu sein — ich dachte nichts mehr
I was no longer superficial — I had stopped thinking.
A fine thing: suddenly to forget about one’s history, one’s past, to stop feeling that one’s present happiness is endangered by what one used to be.
My way of thinking is often so wrong, so untenable, because I think as if I were talking to someone else.
The main thing:... not to let myself be defined by history, not to take it as an excuse—despise it in those who hide their personal insignificance behind it—and yet know it, in order to understand people and above all to see through them (my hatred of history as a refuge for be-nothings).
I was angry at her for not being what I wanted.
Tense, unnerved, and close to madness before writing—and when I read what I’ve written it looks so calm.
Proud of my near-madness, as if I had attained a goal.