Henri Frédéric Amiel’s diary, 1867

“Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntar anni....” I hear the drops of my life falling distinctly one by one into the devouring abyss of eternity. I feel my days…

Rain storms in the night—the weather is showing its April caprice. From the window one sees a gray and melancholy sky, and roofs glistering with rain. The spring is…

Awake, thou that sleepest, and rise from the dead. What needs perpetually refreshing and renewing in me is my store of courage. By nature I am so easily disgusted…

A marvelous view of blinding and bewildering beauty. Above a milky sea of cloud, flooded with morning light, the rolling waves of which are beating up against the…