Monday — and Tuesday.
May 6, 1845.
So when wise people happen to be ill, they sit up till six o’clock in the morning and get up again at nine? Do tell me how Lurias can ever be made out of such ungodly imprudences. If the wind blows east or west, where can any remedy be, while such evil deeds are being committed? And what is to be the end of it? And what is the reasonableness of it in the meantime, when we all know that thinking, dreaming, creating people like yourself, have two lives to bear instead of one, and therefore ought to sleep more than others, . . . throwing over and buckling in that fold of death, to stroke the life-purple smoother. You have to live your own personal life, and also Luria’s life — and therefore you should sleep for both. Continue reading “#21”