I might add to my litany this: Most kind Devil, deliver me--from
myself.
March 16.
To-day I walked over the sand, and it was almost beautiful. The
sun was sinking and the sky was filled with roses and gold.
Then came my soul and confronted me. My soul is wondrous fair. It
is like a young woman. The beauty of it is too great for human eyes
to look upon. It is too great for mine. Yet I look.
My soul said to me: “I am sick.”