OCTOBER 13, 1942

Never before have I been so enraptured with my life! It’s quite an impersonal sensation. It comes when I am alone or with someone, when I am reading a splendid book, looking at an imaginative image, or listening to good music. It came today, with fantastic and sustained force, when I was listening to “Sheep May Safely Graze” by J. S. Bach in a music shop during my lunch hour. It came on even more strongly when I read a page in Mysticism by [Evelyn] Underhill. It’s my faith—it’s my life. There is nothing but art.

Another ordinary day at the office. Miss Weick was moved to the other office. I’m with Goldberg, around whom I can’t smoke as much as I’d like. I am filled with inexpressible happiness. Yet it is sadness too. It is much greater than I. I do not concern myself with my own person: only with my aspirations, my desires, my work. I concern myself with the things I love.FF