April 17 + 

A journey in a railway train makes me sentimental. If I enter the compartment a robust-minded, cheerful youth, fresh and whistling from a walk by the sea, yet, as soon as I am settled down in one corner and the train is rattling along past fields, woods, towns, and painted stations, I find myself indulging in a saccharine sadness⁠—very toothsome and jolly. I pull a long face and gaze out of the window wistfully and look sad. But I am really happy⁠—and incredibly sentimental. + 

The effect is produced, I suppose, by the quickly changing panoramic view of the country, and as I see everything sliding swiftly by, and feel myself being hurtled forward willy-nilly, I am subconscious of the flight of Time, of the eternal flux, of the trajectory of my own life.⁠ ⁠… Timid folk, of course, want some Rock of Ages, something static. They want life a mill pond rather than the torrent which it is, a homely affair of teacups and tabby cats rather than a dangerous expedition. + 