April 22 + 

Who will rid me of the body of this death? My body is chained to me⁠—a dead weight. It is my warder. I can do nothing without first consulting it and seeking its permission. I jeer at its grotesqueness. I chafe at the thongs it binds on me. On this bully I am dependent for everything the world can give me. How can I preserve my amour propre when I must needs be forever wheedling and cajoling a despot with delicate meats and soft couches?⁠—I who am proud, ambitious, and full of energy! In the end, too, I know it intends to carry me off.⁠ ⁠… I should like though to have the last kick and, copying De Quincey, arrange to hand it over for dissection to the medical men⁠—out of revenge. + 

“Hope thou not much; fear thou not at all”⁠—my motto of late. + 