To Woolwich, where we found my wife not well, and I out of humour began to dislike her painting, the last things not pleasing me so well as the former: but I blame myself from being so complaisant.
November 19, 1665
First time to bathe under the rain under LB sky. When was the last time, really? Was it then, during the Quisao storm, with a friend whose name I have forgotten but seems to me to start with the letter R, that liquid and battered afternoon 14 or 16 years past? Some time since then, the rain became an occasion for nothing other than coffee and paper. Memories cut in this manner serve to stimulate the mind and impoverish the years.