If I look back on this diary, and find entries, like yesterday’s, that I’d rather not have written, or that I wish I’d written differently, so that, were I to come across them again, I wouldn’t find them sentimental, or so involved with the workings of my own mind, and the notions that occur to me, that they would seem sentimental to me, even if they don’t seem that way to others, I won’t delete them, but will leave them where they are, though I’ll try not to think of them, and will hope they’ll go unnoticed, or be forgotten.