Page 570 - the-idiot

night; a fortnight of life is not itself worth having, which is
a proof that I write nothing here but pure truth.
(“N.B.—Let me remember to consider; am I mad at this
moment, or not? or rather at these moments? I have been
told that consumptives sometimes do go out of their minds
for a while in the last stages of the malady. I can prove this
tomorrow when I read it out, by the impression it makes
upon the audience. I must settle this question once and for
all, otherwise I can’t go on with anything.)
‘I believe I have just written dreadful nonsense; but there’s
no time for correcting, as I said before. Besides that, I have
made myself a promise not to alter a single word of what
I write in this paper, even though I find that I am contra-
dicting myself every five lines. I wish to verify the working
of the natural logic of my ideas tomorrow during the read-
ing—whether I am capable of detecting logical errors, and
whether all that I have meditated over during the last six
months be true, or nothing but delirium.
‘If two months since I had been called upon to leave my
room and the view of Meyer’s wall opposite, I verily believe
I should have been sorry. But now I have no such feeling,
and yet I am leaving this room and Meyer’s brick wall FOR
EVER. So that my conclusion, that it is not worth while in-
dulging in grief, or any other emotion, for a fortnight, has
proved stronger than my very nature, and has taken over
the direction of my feelings. But is it so? Is it the case that
my nature is conquered entirely? If I were to be put on the
rack now, I should certainly cry out. I should not say that it
is not worth while to yell and feel pain because I have but a