Fasnacht was once more proof how little purely intellectual power avail to make a big man. I thought that he had not lived a single one of his theories: he had worked them with his brain but not with his blood. I think I rather surprised him by remarking that he was a remarkable guest, for he had made me talk more solemn nonsense than I had done for two years.

When he went I walked with him to the corner of the road. I said I believed the things I had said but he had been playing with counters. He admitted he could only clinch his view by committing suicide. He then left me. I forgot to mention that he referred to everything he liked – including Idealistic Nihilism – as ‘very sweet.’ Faugh! He also professed to find my view of a Reality with no margins intolerable, expiating on the pressure: I said I loved it.

From All My Road Before Me