1 The Convent
2 Thursday
3
4 Thank you for your letter. I have very much I want to talk to you
5about. Now I am only writing to give you the result of my own bitter
6experiences; it seems a very little matter, but it is really a very
7great one. In choosing your rooms don’t be misled by the fact that
8when you go in they seem tolerably quiet; the train not very close &c.
9You imagine you can do brain work there – coming out of the noisy
10street it seems quiet. You will ^may^ find when it comes to living there
11month after month, & doing fine brain work, perhaps under pressure,
12that it is simply impossible to do anything, except at a gigantic
13unnecessary cost to your brain. I hope you are much too wise to need
14this advice – but I give it.
15
16 I am sorry you are leaving the Temple. One gets accustomed to
17associating people with certain places & one resents their making any
18change.
19
20 I am going to answer your letter tomorrow. You will let me know when &
21where you get to when you go away again?
22
23 I wish you were a woman & could come & stay here at the convent. When
24you had rested here for in perfect quiet for six months & done nothing
25then your ^mind^ would begin to work; your mind would begin to work of
26itself without your pulling it in motion. You don’t know anything
27about cactus buds. I do. They stop for months on the branch, & you
28think they’ll never open, & they do at last; & they’re full of
29stamens & yellow & white pollen! Of course there’s nothing before if
30you press
31
32^them open. They are still forming, & the largest buds take the longest
33time. ^
34
35 O.S.
36
37 ^I ought to be in London today but have a bad cold, so put it off till
38tomorrow.^
39
40
41