February 19, 1958 Intolerable happiness! Thousands of planets expand in the limitlessness of consciousness! Terrifying happiness!
Poor sorts of sensations — and sensations of a god — I have not known any other kinds. Minuscule and infinite, my dimensions, my modes of existence.
If the sensation of the vanity of all things could by itself confer saintliness, what I saint I would be! I would occupy the first place in the hierarchy of saints!
The base of despair is doubt of oneself.
I am finished, I am on the verge of prayer.