There are limits to
everything, there is a middle way. But God knows neither middle
way nor limits. I say God, but why? All I have known so far has
been the devil. After all, I am afraid of God as much as of the
devil, so I drift along, thinking of nothing but suicide, but
with neither courage nor means here to execute the act. As you
read this, it will easily prove to you my insanity. The style
and the ideas are incoherent enough--I can see that myself. But
I cannot keep myself from being either crazy or an idiot; and, as
things are, from whom should I ask pity? I am defenseless
against the invisible enemy who is tightening his coils around
me. I should be no better armed against him even if I saw him,
or had seen him. Oh, if he would but kill me, devil take him!
Death, death, once for all! But I stop. I have raved to you long
enough. I say raved, for I can write no otherwise, having
neither brain nor thoughts left. O God! what a misfortune to be
born! Born like a mushroom, doubtless between an evening and a
morning; and how true and right I was when in our philosophy-year
in college I chewed the cud of bitterness with the pessimists.
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