In a word, happen what will, I have nothing to reproach myself with.

I have suffered sufficiently for an exaggerated crime [that of "attempting to desert;"-- Heavens!]--and I will not engage myself to extend my miseries (CHAGRINS) into future times.

I have still resources:--a pistol-shot can deliver me from my sorrows and my life: and I think a merciful God would not damn me for that; but, taking pity on me, would, in exchange for a life of wretchedness, grant me salvation.

This is whitherward despair can lead a young person, whose blood is not so quiescent as if he were seventy.
I have a feeling of myself, Monsieur; and perceive that, when one hates the methods of force as much as I, our boiling blood will carry us always towards extremities.
...

"If there are honest people in the world, they must think how to save me from one of the most perilous passages I have ever been in.
I waste myself in gloomy ideas; I fear I shall not be able to hide my grief, on coming to Berlin.