Paris, Sunday, November 27, 1854.

It is very sad to lose one’s friends, but it is a calamity which may be avoided only by a greater calamity, which is to love no one. Moreover, one must not forget the living for the dead. You should have come to see me instead of writing. The weather is magnificent. We could have conversed philosophically on the vanities of the world. I have remained all day by my fireside, in a despondent and misanthropic mood, and, still worse, in great bodily suffering. I feel somewhat better to-night, but I shall be worse again if I do not see you to-morrow.