What could I do with a dream?
By what effort of the will could I drown a memory of flesh and blood?
Lady Macbeth, having killed Duncan, saw that the ocean would not wash her hands clean again; it would not have washed away my wounds.
I said to Desgenais: "When I sleep, her head is on my pillow." My life had been wrapped up in this woman; to doubt her was to doubt all; to deny her, to curse all; to lose her, to renounce all.

I no longer went out; the world seemed peopled with monsters, with horned deer and crocodiles.

To all that was said to distract my mind, I replied: "Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing of the kind." I sat in my window and said: "She will come, I am sure of it; she is coming, she is turning the corner at this moment, I can feel her approach.

She can no more live without me than I without her.

What shall I say?
How shall I receive her ?" Then the thought of her perfidy occurred to me.
"Ah! let her come! I will kill her!" Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her.
"What is she doing ?" I asked myself.