4. If I lost the ability to move my legs, but could keep them rigid, I would like a little parabola of sorts, with wheels—yes, an arch in which I could stand. My feet several inches above the ground, on straps, my waist belted into a fastener of sorts, and my arms free to move about, and touch things.

19. Yesterday, the slave boy forgot to serve my customary fig cake. I was so hungry I thought I would die.

22. A recurring dream: I am travelling in the hand of a god, looking down at all the people, their backs breaking beneath the weight of their pathetic problems. The hand of god is very large, and grey. Why must Diogentus criticize my paintings so?

28. A shoe for the foot of a child. Like the adult shoe, but smaller.

35. I cannot go on with this charade. I am in love with Servius’s wife and I must unbosom myself. “Clytie, I love you.” Everyone says it like that, “I love you.” The words have lost all meaning. Perhaps: “You are a special lady—”
No. Perhaps if I murder Servius.

37. In love, 1 + 1 = 1.

43. Sometimes I am too tired to bathe. When people ask “What stinks?” I worry that it is me.

57. In a land where collections of objects replace jobs and sexual entanglements, filial relations will orbit around the sharing of private collections. Once a man has shown a second man his collection—say, brass jewelry—this man will reward the second man with a token from his collection, perhaps a bracelet.

68. “Who are these people? What are their interests?” They are yours, Marcus Aurelius, and they will murder their fathers at your bidding.

72. Today I found the sunlight on my nipples too strong, and affixed leaves to them with several drops of honey. Imagaine my embarrassment when Epictetus arrived in my private patio unannounced! I was so humiliated I thought I would die!

73. What peace: to lie within my wooden egg and oscillate.

89. A vision: packs of parchment rolls containing dried leaves which a man may light aflame and breathe through, when he is feeling blue. Or drinking, and at a loss for things to do with the hands.

96. “Servius, you have done me wrong. This is why I will be killing you.”

103. My friends are totally worthless. They envy my proclivities, and gossip shamelessly.
Servius, learning of his wife’s affection for me, has confessed his dalliance with the slave boy. Now Clytie will not speak to me, as she wishes to maintain the “moral high ground.” Servius is so manipulative. I hate everyone. I am so frustrated I could die.