The storm-clouds over Russia seem thicker than ever before. Something must emerge from this situation: either a turbulent mass movement of some kind, or else a separate peace. If the papers are anything to go by, the prospect of the latter has never been so greatly feared in England and France.
I enjoyed a stroll through the garden. The weather is gorgeous. It’s warm in the sun.
A painting can never be based on the word "beauty", just as saying ‘2x2 = 4’ can never be beautiful.
I had a visit from State Council Chairman Scheglovitov. He believes it necessary to support the government and to postpone the principal reforms until the end of the war; if they’re instigated now, he says, “everything will fall apart”. I told him I was of the same opinion, but that, in my view, certain compromises should be sought as well.
I sprang to my feet in the middle of night, having seen the whole thing from beginning to end. Unable to sleep any further, I got up and began to write; I wrote for two days straight, sleeping no more than a couple of hours each night and reprising my work immediately on awaking. But, the holidays being over, I needed to go into the office, and had to put the thing aside. I stopped work on the 20th and spent three days reworking the thing. I haven’t yet given it a name.