“Easter. I am cold to the core of my soul, and I am also as close as possible to despair. Such is, on me, the effect of this great feast. Easter Sunday is ordinarily painful for me, sometimes terrible. Impossible to hide my distress, which is expressed nearly like this: I do not arrive at feeling the joy of the Resurrection because the Resurrection, for me, never arrives. I always see Jesus in agony, Jesus on the cross, and I cannot see him in any other way.
“Then, this morning, I was too much reminded of the past, already so distant (1879-1882) and, all the same, so very much alive still when I saw the veritable Véronique, in tears and shredded by the tigers of compassion, in front of the image of Jesus being handed over to his tormentors… How to climb out of that chasm again?… That perpetual recommencement of the ecclesiastical Year, ever the same, without the Lord ever breaking out, from behind the clouds, and shining!…
“Non venit regnum Dei cum observatione. Well do I know it. But because this Reign must not be accompanied by any sign, does that mean that I must wait forever?”
—Léon Bloy, The Ungrateful Beggar (entry for April 14, 1895)