You are right to forget quarrels, if you can. As you say, very sensibly, the closer you examine them the more important they grow. It is best to dream as long as possible, and as we can always repeat the same dream, it becomes almost a reality. I am feeling better since yesterday, and slept all last night, which I had not been able to do for a long time. I believe, too, that my spirits have been lighter ever since I let off steam the other day. It is a pity we can not meet the day after having a quarrel, for I am sure we should be in a perfectly amiable frame of mind. You promised to appoint a day, but it has not occurred to you to do so, or else, what would be even more unkind, you thought it would be an indecorous thing to do. It is this constant preoccupation of yours which is so often a cause of disagreement between us. As the hour of our separation draws near, I become more discontented with myself, and the result is I behave as if I were discontented with you. I might have said that you hold yourself too much in check in order to please me. I catch myself incessantly flying into a rage against this restraint, which, even in its most agreeable aspect, conceals an underlying basis of sadness. But dream, therein lies wisdom. When? That is the whole question. You ought to translate for me a German book which gets on my nerves. Nothing is more irritating than a German professor who thinks he has discovered an idea. The title is alluring. It is: _das Provocations-verfahren der Römer_. LXX PARIS, _July, 1843_. Your letter is very kind, almost affectionate, indeed. I would I were in a less melancholy mood, that I might enjoy it to perfection. The best I can do is to express my appreciation of all that it contains of graciousness, and to repress the somewhat gloomy thoughts that fill my mind concerning it. It is unfortunate that I can not become so completely absorbed in my dreams as you do. But let us leave this subject and talk of something else. I am going away in ten days. I went to the country yesterday to make a visit, and returned very weary and very blue; weary, because I was tired out, and blue, because of the thought that it was a beautiful day wasted. Do you never chide yourself for a similar reason? I hope not. Sometimes I believe that you feel all that I feel, then come drawbacks, and I doubt everything. Good-bye. If I write any more I shall say something that you will misunderstand.... LXXI _Thursday night, July 28, 1843._