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Ebb tide in appetite today. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so diary instead. since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty feeling.
Nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.
As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was work, I went amongst the patients. I picked out one who has afforded me a study of much interest.
He is so quaint that I am determined to understand him as well as I can.
Today I seemed to get nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.
I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to making myself master of the facts of his hallucination.
In my manner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty.
I seemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness, a thing which I avoid with the patients as I would the mouth of hell.
(Mem., Under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?) Omnia Romae venalia sunt. Hell has its price!
If there be anything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so, therefore. . .
R. M, Renfield, age 59. Sanguine temperament, great physical strength, morbidly excitable, periods of gloom, ending in some fixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish, a possibly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves.
What I think of on this point is, when self is the fixed point the centripetal force is balanced with the centrifugal. When duty, a cause, etc., is the fixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident of a series of accidents can balance it.