18th August (1918)

My penultimate breakfast of bread and dip gastronomically accommodated I sit and face the future with self-righteous fortitude.  But where is my mail?  Alphonso sits and polishes his buttons and shines his boots like a good soldier.  I do neither, being after all, a “N.Zedder.”  Having now read nothing of importance for a couple of years I find my mind growing curiously bankrupt.  Yet, if one’s mind can be maintained only by assimilating the ideas of others, how is it to gain originality? (Echo – of some similar phenomenon – answers – “How?”).

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