July 1950. Maybe I'll never be happy, but tonight I'm happy. I just have the empty house, a warm, vague feeling of physical fatigue had worked all day in the sun to plant strawberries climbers, a glass of cold milk sugar, a bowl of blueberries drowned in cream. Now I understand how people can live without reading, without studying. When one is so tired at the end of the day needs to sleep and the next morning at dawn, waiting for him to plant more strawberries, and so it goes on to live close to the ground. At times like this I'd be a fool to ask for more ...
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