Slee When everything is lost, when that which to you is dearest of all is denied you, when there is not one remaining doubt that can keep the soul breathing, when it wants to sink down in stagnation and death “‘because there is nothing left to do” —could there really be absolutely nothing left? I do know of one thing still—before you lay yourself down to die, even though you keep on living, ask yourself: Do I still love God as deeply as before? If you have to admit that you do not, then your soul will not have time to fall asleep but will have much to do; and if you sense that you do, then you will be so happy that you will feel more alive than ever.—JP I 742 (Pap. II A 238) n.d., 1842 ota the magnitude of the suffering and pain cannot al- ways be judged by the shriek and the noise.—JPIV (Pap. WIA 239) n.d., 1842 haraes and discover that it is a mystery deeper than any thought that has ever arisen within a man’s heart,” that God is Either/Or, I 495 one who hates all ceremonies, that one dares without further ado (ex tempore) to speak with him without an appointment etc. in the joy of life, during sorrow-filled nights; that one al- ways has occasion to thank him, and that when one forgets this, he is loving enough to remind one of it. I meditate upon how proportionately God shares with man, for it must be far more difficult for him to love a human being in such a way that he is not crushed by God’s love, far more difficult for him to make himself so small that a human being really can love him.”
And when one does not have a single human being who un- derstands one, then he is willing to listen and he can remember far better than any man, even better than one can oneself. And when one’s thoughts are so confused that one does not know whether one is coming or going, God has not forgotten even the slightest thing one has prayed him to remember; and if it were not so, everything would be a matter of indifference, whether one could remember it oneself or not.—JP I 1508 (Pap. Il A 240) n.d., 1842 se ag And when you had become utterly weary of the world, when you wanted to give your passion the outlet of one single statement, you perhaps said: ‘“Let the world pass away and the lust thereof.”'® But at the same moment your soul was reminded that it was an old saying, and involuntarily you began to repeat what from your childhood followed next: God’s word endures forever. At first you said it quite indiffer- ently, but finally it became everything to you.—JP I 743 (Pap. Ill A 241) n.d., 1842 Just to have been the object of more severe judgment even once is something that cannot be forgotten, even though one has improved.—JP II 1773 (Pap. III A 242) n.d., 1842 The only thing to fear is that it could occur to the prostituted women to deny her wish, for then all would be lost; they would have gained an appearance of truth, and the girl would have lost everything.—Pap. III A 243 n.d., 1842 496 Supplement The Skeptic Just as the seducer was meant to give a reflected picture of the abortive endeavor that wished to carry out its purpose in re- lation to “woman,” so also the skeptic in relation to man as an attempt to wrench everything away from him.—JP III 3286 (Pap. Il A 244) n.d., 1842 Page from a Street Inspector’s Diary It was April 1, 1830, that I became district inspector below the stock exchange. (a) Reflections on a fish tank by one of the fishing boats, the enormous horizon, still life in contrast (b) A Laplander—idyll the coal market the old market the straw market the tale of a gutter plank deluge The editor has been unable to restrain himself from slipping in a few observations. It is Sunday afternoon—all so quiet—a shrimp-seller cries his wares— A man with plantain—the out-of-the-way place where it grows— A woman selling oranges—harbinger of spring— A little love story in the district— —JP V 5564 (Pap. Ill A 245) n.d., 1842 The tale of the rat that became a misanthrope.—JP V 5565 (Pap. II A 246) n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 3-15: Preface It may at times have occurred to you, dear reader, to wish for yourself the possibility of really being able to see into a per- son’s innermost being, to see how he is when he is alone with himself; indeed, you may even have wished more, to know Either/Or, I 497 how he is when he is alone with his God, in order to see what a person truly is—it has perhaps struck you that when two people have lived together for a long time neither of them per- haps knew what dwelt in the other; they perhaps went to the Lord’s Supper together; they confessed the same faith etc.— Kind lady reader, certainly you, too, have often wished— not so much from ordinary human interest—to see what dwelt in a person.
I have always had a decided bent toward such reflections. — Pap. TH B 185:1 #.d., 1842 In margin of Pap. III B 185:1: Ifa person has experienced much, has much interior history, then he has an authentic interpretation of everything.
ss seh even if you could do without the help of others, as it seems to you, you perhaps felt the pain deepest because of your being unable to help others.
Love no longer united people, but anxiety separated them— —Pap. III B 185:2 n.d., 1842 In margin of Pap. I] B 185:1: spi eed and I imagine you so vividly—my confession of love cannot disturb you—you do not know who I am—I do not know who you are—and yet there can be an understanding between us, and every time I see a pretty young girl I think that she perhaps has read it, she perhaps has felt a faint shiver— and I ask whether she has read it— —Pap. III B 185:3 n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 3-15: Preface The wish may at times have occurred to you, dear reader, to be able really to see into a person’s innermost being in order to see how he is when he is alone with himself. You perhaps may tl B 187:1 223 ML B 187:1 224 498 Supplement not entirely trust the accuracy of the philosophical thesis that the inner is the outer.* You may at times have happily felt that it was possible for you to hide your life’s deepest secret from others in order to brood over it undisturbed, either because it seems to you too good, too fortunate, to communicate to others, or too sad and crushing to allow others to share, at times may have wished it were possible, at times may have painfully felt that it was possible, for others to avoid even your sharpest and most attentive scrutiny. Such thoughts come and go and no one knows from whence they come or whither they go; but they seize the mind with a strange anxiety because the great and beautiful family of mankind is thereby disintegrated into an infinite variety of isolated lives, because faith in work- ing together for world historical achievements just as for the most insignificant private enterprise thereby dissolves like an illusion, because trust and confidence appear to you as foolish- ness, love and the human race appear to historical observation, like the milky way to astronomical observation, as a multitude of pinpoints having nothing at all to do with each other—the countries appear just as accidental as the figures astronomers have named as constellations.
fdr whe and even if the embrace is ever so tender, they still do not become one—no more than a jumper who can jump ever so high can therefore fly. That is to say, there remains a qualitative difference, and out of this difference comes a third being that brings its secret with it into the world.—Pap. III B 187:1 n.d., 1842 Addition to Pap. WB 187:1: *Or you perhaps have held such a Proteus in your arms, who continually changed himself, assumed the most ridicu- lous shapes in order to slip away from you, in order that in the moment of laughter you would forget to hold onto him; you may not have had the strength to hold out with him and doubted whether eventually there would come a midnight hour when everyone has to take off his mask.—Pap. III B 187:2 n.d., 1842 Either/Or, I 499 From draft; see 4:16-9:7: These papers have come into my possession—I know noth- ing at all about his way of life, his outward circumstances— usually one comes to know most about these—thus he is anon- ymous and yet everything adds up to a definite personality— therefore, I hear his confessions but like the confessor am sep- arated by a partition from the one confessing, whom I cannot see. —Should I not wish to form a conception of the person. When I sit and listen and hear a trembling, youthful, female voice confess sins, choked with sobs, I immediately form a picture—or a youthful, happy, confident, buoyant voice. — Therefore, even though I lack the external image, the confes- sions are all the more lively; he does not speak at a definite hour what comes to his mind—it is momentary, sometimes when sleep refused to come, sometimes when it suddenly left him, at times in the middle of a tumult of joy, at times in the middle of deepest solitude. Therefore the confessions have a freshness, an aroma— —Pap. III B 185:4 n.d., 1842 From draft; see 4:16-6:24: How I happened to come into possession of them— —Pap. III B 185:5 n.d., 1842 From draft; see 7:35-10:31: I cannot find even any historical development in them— with respect only to erotic factors, he seems at times to be in love for the first time—at times to have been that for a long time and many times, at times even to be experienced in all the secret depths of erotic love—whether it is illusions—moods— or actual data—I do not know—I let everything take its course with the most diplomatic exactitude—perhaps it is an accident that has arranged them in this way—perhaps his plan—he pre- sumably has been afraid that these pages might sometime fall into strangers’ hands—he has never mentioned any name—he himself understood this—it is a laudable caution and by no 500 Supplement 500 Supplement means unnecessary, as one sees in casu. —The date of the year is utterly lacking; occasionally there is a date, but without the year it is meaningless—the only information is found in the letters from Edward, which are included. One sees from these that his name was Johannes. However, one cannot be com- pletely sure of that, for it would certainly be possible that, given his caution, even the letters were written under fictitious names. This is supported by the fact that in one of the letters the name is changed to Johannes—so it is just as possible that Johannes is the right name as the fictitious name—where he has lived is very difficult to determine—he seems to have trav- eled a good deal—at times he writes: here in the city, but one does not know which city is meant—presumably he himself could easily call to mind as to what city it was or perhaps it was of no interest to him at all to remember mere externals. —That the letters which follow are actually from someone is demon- strated by the difference in the handwriting. It is very strik- ing—the loose pages are all written very disconnectedly—the letters are calm and sensible, at times even beautiful, always carefully written—the pages often lack meaning, although in another sense the meaning is clear enough if one just adds a sin~ gle word or inserts a comma or reads it aloud.—Pap. III B 185:6 n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 8:35-10:31: The Seducer’s Diary [Dagbog] Time. —A poem. —He himself has become anxious.
moral—seducer (—not the hero of a novel).
The girl herself has guilt. (the rarity.) One sees also from this that it is fiction, for he would never have been able to find a girl who would do it.
The estheticist has wanted to exhaust the potentiality of the interesting (see the note about Don Giovanni) [Pap. III B 41:26; Either/Or, Il, p. 377, KW II (Pap. Ill B 41:26)}. The Method.
to seduce only one Il B 188 225 Either/Or, I 501 In novels it is a matter of either to see her and to love her being one and the same or a seduction happening so easily that it tempts. Here one sees that it is not so easy—a seduction in which the girl herself does not have an element of guilt has no true esthetic worth.
The schism: something is true in poetry that is untrue in life, is canceled. All romantic love is essentially deceit. The seducer does not lack the erotic, wants to sacrifice everything for his idea, but he does not believe in the durability of love, it is his heresy; but the same is true of any hero in a novel, only we do not come to see it.
“The Seducer’s Diary”’ thus forms the transition to the ethi- cist and is very far from being immoral.—Pap. III B 188:1 n.d., 1842 From draft; see 8:35-10:5: And just as it made A uneasy to be involved with these pa- pers (see note marked in red crayon [Pap. III B 47:1]), so it has also made me anxious when I copied them in the stillness of the night. It seemed to me as if the seducer paced the floor like a ghost, glanced at the papers, fixed his demonic eyes on me, and said: Well, well, so you want to publish my papers. That is, you know, irresponsible, for you will arouse anxiety in the darling girls. But, on the other hand, you will, of course make me innocuous. Dear friend, you are mistaken. I merely change the method. Now I am known as Seducer. I will not mention the large flock of young girls who will fly straight into the light when they hear this seductive name—but give me just half a year and I shall provide a new story more daring than all the rest: a girl who gets the idea that she will avenge the whole sex on me, will teach me to taste all the pains of unhappy love. If she does not think of it herself, I shall poetize it into her. I shall writhe like an eel and when I have brought her to the point where I want her, then it is over. What do you think of that story.—Pap. III B 188:2 n.d., 1842 Ik B 188:1 226 502 Supplement From draft; see 9:9-10: J hiaians the whole narrative is to be regarded as a troubled and dark dream.—Pap. II] B 188:3 n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 10:12-31: eens 8 it is not easy to decide how long a time has passed, since the whole movement is, like a nightmare ride, indeter- minable as to time.—Pap. III B 185:7 n.d., 1842 From draft; see 13:22-23: Koen cD k he who has said A must also say B; however, this is not always the case in life. —Pap. III B 187:3 n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 14:24-25; If A knew it, he would undoubtedly say: Read it or do not read it, you will regret it either way.—Pap. III B 187:6 n.d., 1842 From draft; see 14:26-15:25: If B knew that it was being published, he would perhaps end his preface thus: Go out into the world, then; go quietly and unobserved; avoid, if possible, the attention of every critic; and should it fall into the hands of a female reader, then I would say: My charming reader, in this book you will find much that you perhaps should not know, something by which you presumably can benefit from knowing it; therefore read a great deal in such a way that, having read it, you may be as one who has not read it, and read the something in such a way that, having read it, you may be as one who has not forgotten what has been read.—Pap. II] B 187:5 n.d., 1842 {tk B 187 224 I B 187 225 Either/Or, I 503 From page preceding final draft of “The Seducer’s Diary”’; see 15:6: In the preface to the whole work, that is, in the editor’s preface, it should read: If anyone should think he recognizes the editor, if anyone should be of the opinion that the whole thing resem- bles him personally, then I will always say that it is impossible except insofar as it would be true, spiritually speaking, that the child ought to resemble not only the father but also the god- father.
In the same way in the first preface: it occurs to me that the whole thing might be a hoax; maybe someone wants to make fun of me. Well, the world is full of hoaxes.—Pap. III B 169 n.d., 1842 From page preceding final draft of “The Seducer’s Diary”; see 15:6: Victor Eremita’s Dedication This work is dedicated to Mr. X Ata happy party, it sometimes happens that everyone joins in giving one specific toast to one specific person; at other times, One joins in drinking a toast, while each person thinks of whatever he so wishes. The former is a loud toast, the latter a silent homage. Which homage is the more beautiful. As I let this work go out into the world, I am thinking of you, dear Mr. X; my thoughts address you, you to whom I owe so much.—Pap. IT] B 171 n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 17:1: Avapoduata. Some of these are not here but are partly among various papers in the thin green book, and partly in other places. '©!
Others found here were not printed. —Pap. III B 178 n.d., 1842 TIL B 169 186 Mt B 169 187 504 Supplement See 17:2: From sketch; see 17:1-2: Under the title: Refrains ad se ipsum all the separate observations that are already worked out may well be collected. They are scattered elements of a view of life that is not only personal but also scholarly, yet precisely be- cause of this duplexity, cancels itself and once again ends in either/or.—Pap. III B 175 n.d., 1842 Addition to Pap. III B 175: pases there frequently are contradictions in them, his moods have been this way. The single mood is intensified as mood, and one would expect him not to have other moods.— Pap. 111 B 176 n.d., 1842 From sketch; see 19:1-18: The first sentence in the refrains should read thus: What is a poet?
The unhappiness in this is described, and it ends with: least of all I wished to be a poet.—Pap. III B 179:2 n.d., 1841-42 From draft; see 19:2-16: boc. a bei of all the senses I like hearing the most. I listen, just like the Catholic Church—and I know how to find an inter- esting side to even the most tragic and painful sound, just as Either/Or, I 505 the unhappy wretches who despaired in Phalarus’s bull be- came virtuosos by means of its construction— At times my ear swallows what is heard and it vanishes ex- ceedingly deep within; at times a venetian blind is drawn be- fore it and the trembling words are sifted through it—what a remarkable thing is the ear—the eye— —Pap. III B 187:4 n.d., 1842 The first Suowadua is really the task of the entire work, which is not resolved until the last words of the sermon. An enormous dissonance is assumed, and then it says: Explain it. A total break with actuality is assumed, which does not have its base in futility but in mental depression and its predomi- nance over actuality.
The last duo. tells us how a life such as this has found its satisfactory expression in laughter. He pays his debt to actual- ity by means of laughter, and now everything takes place within this contradiction. His enthusiasm is too intense, his sympathy too deep, his love too burning, his heart too warm to be able to express himself in any other way than by contra- diction. Thus A himself would never have come to a decision to publish his papers.—JP V 5629 (Pap. IV A 216) n.d., 1843 Deleted from final copy; see 19:26: All of the numerous discussion group leaders, assistant pro- fessors, and survey people who nowadays in Germany take it upon themselves to introduce people to philosophy and to characterize philosophy’s present position are just as distaste- ful to me with their devoid-of-all-pathos newspaper informa- tion about the situation of philosophy as dull, sleepy billiard- game scorekeepers with their monotonous cry: dixe a ons. And strangely enough, philosophy advances steadily, and despite the fact that in the whole crowd of philosophers there is not one single player but simply scorekeepers. I wait in vain for a man to appear who would have the power to say: 4 point [noth- ing, no score}. In vain—we are already far along in quarant, and the game will soon be over and all the enigmas explained. If only the German philosophers could explain the enigma that 506 Supplement the game goes on although there is no one who plays. —What wonder then, when this is the situation with the Germans, that I set my hopes on Danish philosophy. My barber, too, an older but well-read man, who has followed the movements of modern Danish philosophy with energy and interest, main- tains that Denmark has never had such philosophers as it has now; the beginning of Danish philosophy should now be at hand. The other day he was so good as to utilize the ten min- utes he uses for my shave to give me a short survey of modern Danish philosophy. He assumes that it begins with Riegels, Horrebov, and Boie. He knew Riegels intimately; he was his friend and dus-brother, a little square-built man, always cheer- ful and contented. He remembers distinctly what a sensation his debut aroused. He advanced many remarkable truths. What they were my barber has forgotten—it was many years ago; yet he remembers as vividly as if it were yesterday what a sensation he made. Horrebov and Boie always came to his bar- ber shop, where he then had the opportunity to become fa- miliar with their philosophy. These three men must be re- garded as the coryphi in modern Danish philosophy. Riisbrigh should also be mentioned, although his work as a teacher at the University of Copenhagen was quieter and less noticed. On the whole, however, he stood outside the great movements in modern Danish philosophy. But what my barber could not recall without deep emotion was that through untimely death Denmark should lose the most gifted philosopher it had. The man is now forgotten. Many people perhaps do not know he ever lived. His name is Niels Rasmussen, and he was a con- temporary of the three great philosophers. He had conceived the eminent idea that all European philosophy might unite around the Danish, and this again around his philosophy. To that end he worked energetically on a subscription plan; but the work took all his strength to the extent that he died of overexhaustion. If, said my barber, if his subscription plan had been finished, if the work it heralded had been finished, if it had been read, if it had been translated, if it had been under- stood by the European philosophers, then without any doubt the hopeful Niels Rasmussen would have brought Denmark to the heights it does not occupy even in this moment. But— Either/Or, I 507 he died, Denmark’s philosophical hope. —The barber and I offered him a tear, whereupon he continued to shave my beard as well as to communicate a survey of modern Danish philos- ophy. What Riegels in a jovial moment had confided to him, what Horrebov, Boie, and he had whispered about in the bar- ber shop—this he spread all around the country. —He paused a moment in his barbering to wipe off some lather; he used the moment to show me on a map which hung on the wall how modern Danish philosophy in its grand movements spread across Sjzlland, yes, pushed way up into Norway as far as Trondhjem. Everyone justifiably dared to expect something extraordinary from this great stir, but then came the unhappy years of the war, which shattered everything. But now once again he had gained the courage to hope. The present epoch in Danish philosophy showed clearly that it stood in an essential relation to the previous epoch in modern Danish philosophy; it had contact with it and forsook its conclusion only to find one higher. The first epoch worked toward a sound under- standing of man and achieved it as well; philosophy today abandons more and more this relative superficiality in order to reach something higher. It has perhaps discovered that there is something more and something different, something it pro- visionally calls the anterior Innermost or that which is behind the Innermost Being. As soon as it has discovered what this is or, as my barber more correctly put it, as soon as it has gotten back there behind, it will gain the European reputation which Niels Rasmussen had intended it to have. My barber is of the opinion that one may safely dare hope so, confident in the ex- traordinary powers of Danish philosophy.—JP III 3288 (Pap. III B 191:4, same as 192) n.d., 1842 See 20:1-6: I don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t feel like walking—it is tiring; I don’t feel like lying down, for either I would lie down for a long time, and I don’t feel like doing that, or I would get up right away, and I don’t feel like that either—I don’t feel like riding—the motion is too vigorous for my apa- thy; I don’t feel like doing anything except just taking a drive, 508 Supplement indolently, smoothly undulating along, letting objects in abundance glide by, pausing at every beautiful spot merely to feel my listlessness—my ideas and impulses are just as barren as a eunuch’s desire. —I seek in vain for something to stimu- late me—not even the pithy language of the Middle Ages is able to destroy the emptiness that prevails in me—now I feally feel the meaning of the expression about Christ’s words!® that they are life and spirit—to be brief: I do not feel like writing what I have written here, and I do not feel like erasing it either.—JP V 5251 (Pap. II A 637) n.d., 1837 See 20:11-17: Tested Advice for Unwitty Authors Price: 5 rix-dollars One carelessly writes down one’s personal observations. Later, by way ofall the various proofs, one eventually acquires a fair number of good ideas. Therefore, take courage, you who have not yet dared to have something printed; do not de- spise typographical errors, and do not let on that they are ty- pographic errors. Besides, no one can wrench your property away from you, since it really belongs to no one. The only problem is that you must have the help of a good friend who knows how to decide what is witty, so that you do not acquire new stupidities.—JP I 142 (Pap. II A 111) #.d., 1841 See 20:18-26: Generally speaking, the imperfection in everything human is that its aspirations are achieved only by way of their oppo- sites. I shall not discuss the variety of formations, which can give psychologists plenty to do (the melancholy have the best sense of the comic, the most opulent often the best sense of the rustic, the dissolute often the best sense of the moral, the doubter often the best sense of the religious), but it is through sin that one gains a first glimpse of salvation. Therefore, the imperfection consists not so much in the opposite as in one’s not being able to see one thing and its opposite simultane- ously. —JP 1700 (Pap. I A 112) n.d., 1841 In addition to my other numerous acquaintances, with whom, on the whole, I have a very formal relationship, I have also one intimate confidante—my depression, and in the midst of my joy, in the midst of my work, she beckons to me, calls me aside, even though physically I remain on the spot. It is the most faithful mistress I have known—no wonder, then, that I must be prepared to follow at any moment.—JP V 5496 (Pap. Ii A 114) n.d., 1841 See 21:7-19: Iam strangely alarmed when I note the hypochondriac pro- fundity with which Englishmen of an earlier generation have spotted the ambiguity basic to laughter, as Dr. Hartley has ob- served:* What if laughter were completely misunderstood, what if the world were so bad and existence so unhappy that laughter really is weeping? What if it were a misunderstand- ing—a misunderstanding caused by a compassionate genius or a mocking demon—?
*“Dass wenn sich das Lachen zuerst bey Kindern zeiget, so ist es ein entstehendes Weinen, welches durch Schmerz erregt wird, oder ein plétzlich gehemmtes und in sehr kurzen Zwi- schenraumen wiederholtes Gefiihl des Schmerzens [that when laughter first makes its appearance in the child, it is a nascent cry that is excited by pain or a suddenly arrested feeling of pain repeated at very short intervals].”’ (See Geschichte der komischen Literatur, by Flégel, I, p. 50.)!*—JP V 5371 (Pap. II A 373) February 21, 1839 See 21:20-23: See 21:20-23: There are certain occasions when a person especially feels how hard it is to stand utterly alone* in the world. The other day I saw a poor girl walking utterly alone to church to be con- firmed. And I saw an old man whose whole family had died out—he was carrying his little grandson, his last comfort, in a coffin under his arm, and some time later I saw him in the 510 Supplement cemetery sitting like a cross on a family grave.—JP II 1979 (Pap. II A 400) April 28, 1839 In margin of Pap. Il A 400: *God knows where the expression mutters-alene actually comes from.!&—JP I 1980 (Pap. II A 401) n.d.
See 21:24-29: Cornelius Nepos tells of a general who was kept confined in a fortress with a considerable cavalry regiment; to keep the horses from getting sick because of too much inactivity, he had them whipped daily to put them in motion—in like man- ner I live in my room as one besieged—I prefer to see no one, and every moment I fear that the enemy will try an assault— that is, someone will come and visit me. I would rather not go out, but lest I be harmed by sitting still so much—I cry myself tired.—JP V 5380 (Pap. II A 414) May 10, 1839 See 21:30-32: See 21:30-32: I say of my sorrow what the Englishman says of his house: My sorrow is mey castle [Min sorg is mey castle]. —But there are many men who, when they have occasion for sorrow (wear crepe around the hat), ask for sympathy not so much to alle- viate the sorrow as to be petted and pampered a bit, and thus basically look upon having sorrow as one of life’s conven- iences.—JP V 5384 (Pap. II A 421) May 12, 1839 See 22:1-2: I live and feel these days somewhat as a chessman must feel when the opponent says: That piece cannot be moved—like a useless spectator, since my time has not yet come.—JP V 5388 (Pap. II A 435) May 21, 1839 Aladdin is so very refreshing because of the audacity of the child, of the genius, in the wildest wishes. For how many are there in our day who truly dare to wish, dare to desire, dare to demand, dare to address nature neither with a polite child’s ‘bitte, bitte [please, please]” nor with the raging frenzy of one damned? How many are there who—inspired by what is talked about so much in our age, that man is created in God’s image, is his natural representative—have the authentic voice of command, the authentic, divinely official style, or do we not all stand like Nourredin, bowing and scraping, worrying about asking too much or too little? Or is not this magnificent demanding gradually diminished to morbid reflecting over the I, from insisting to informing, which from the outset the child is indeed brought up to do.—JP TV 4928 (Pap. Il A 451) June 10, 1839 See 22:16-24: See 22:16-24: ie deh Iam as timorous as a scheva, as weak and muted as a daghesch lene; I feel like a letter printed backward in the line, as uncontrollable as a pasha with three horsetails.* Yes, if thinking about one’s miseries removed them just as those who are conscious of their good deeds lose their reward, how happy a hypochondriac of my format would be, for I take all my troubles in advance and yet they all remain behind.
August 24, 1839 In margin: *as solicitous for myself and my scribblings as the National Bank is for its own, generally as reflexive as any pro- noun.—JP V 5407 (Pap. II A 540) August 24, 1839 From sketch; see 23:21-23: epee e For the door of fate does not open inward so that one can push it open by rushing at it, but it opens outward so that the individual first has to stand back (resignation).—Pap. III B 179:3 n.d., 1841-42 512 Supplement See 23:24-34: I have, I believe, the courage to doubt everything; I have, I believe, the courage to fight against everything; but I do not have the courage to acknowledge anything, the courage to possess, to own anything. Most people complain that the world is so prosaic that things do not go in life as in novels, where the lovers are so fortunate. I complain that life is not as it is in novels, where one has hardhearted fathers to struggle against, maidens’ bowers to force open, convent walls to storm. I have only the pale, bloodless, tenacious-of-life noc- turnal forms to struggle against, to which I myself give life and existence.—JP I 801 (Pap. III A 218) November 16, 1840 See 24:1-14: The sad thing about me is that my whole life is an interjec- tion and has nothing nailed down (everything is movable— nothing immovable, no real property)—my sorrow is a despair- ing wail—my joy an overly lyrical tra-la-la.—JP V 5372 (Pap. Il A 382) March 13, 1839 See 24:23-25: