20 January 1913 – 26 January 1913

This Diary reads for all the world as if I were not living in mighty London. The truth is I live in a bigger, dirtier city--ill-health. Ill-health, when chronic, is like a permanent ligature around one's life. What a fine fellow I'd be if I were perfectly well. My energy for one thing would lift the roof off.... We conversed around the text: "To travel hopefully is better than to arrive and true success is to labour." She is--well, so graceful. My God! I love her, I love her, I love her!!!