2. TC expressed his despair about Frederick and his life in general in his Journal, 13 April: “Still struggling and haggling about Frederick; ditto, ditto, alas, about many things! No words can express the forlorn heart-broken silent utterly enchanted kind of humour I am kept in; the worthless, empty and painfully contemptible way in which (with no company but my own, with
my eyes open, but as with my hands bound) I pass these days and months and even years. Good Heavens, shall I never more rally in this world, then; but lie buried
under mud and imbecillity till the end itself (which cannot be distant, and is coming on as with seven-league boots) overtake me? Several are to blame (for tho'
no one hates me, I think, nearly everybody of late takes me on the wrong side, and proves unconsciously unjust to me, more or less obstructive to me): several are to
blame (or to pity), but above all there is one—Thou thyself! Awake, arise; O Heaven and Earth, shall I never again get awake,
and feel myself working and alive? In the Earth there is no other pleasure for me, no other possession for me but that same;
and I neglect it, indolently lie praying for it, do not rise and victoriously snatch it, while the fast-fleeting days yet
are!—Here are now ten years; and what account can I give of them; the work done in them is very small, even in comparison! Remorse is worthless; the remnant of the Future, this yet remains to us.”
