The Journal of a Disappointed Man

Then sometimes, as to-night, I have misgivings. Shall I do these things so well now as I might once have done them? Has not my ill-health seriously affected my mental powers? Surely the boy of 1908-10 was almost a genius or--seen at this distance--a very remarkable youth in the fanatical zeal with which he sought to pursue, and succeeded in gaining, his own end of a zoological education for himself. It is a terrible suspicion to cross the mind of an ambitious youth that perhaps, after all, he is a very commonplace mortal--that his life, whether comedy or tragedy, or both, or neither, is any way insignificant, of no account. It is still more devastating for him to have to consider whether the laurel wreath was not once within his grasp, and whether he must not ascribe his own incalculable loss to his stomach simply. December 15. A very bad heart attack. As I write it intermits every three or four beats. Who knows if I shall live thro' to-night? December 16. Here I am once more. A passable night. After breakfast the intermittency recommenced--it is better now, with a dropped beat only about once per half-hour, so that I am almost happy after yesterday, which was Hell. The world is too good to give up without remonstrance at the beck of a weak heart. Before I went to sleep last night, my watch stopped--I at once observed the cessation of its tick and wondered if it were an omen. I was genuinely surprised to find myself still ticking when I awoke this morning. A moment ago a hearse passed down the street.... Yes, but I'm damned if I haven't a right to be morbid after yesterday. To be ill like this in a boarding-house! I'd marry to-morrow if I had the chance.