I continually return to reading Henri Amiel's personal journal, published by his friends after he died. Here in one volume I am able to peruse the intuitive and developing thoughts of a philosopher's inner life. Sometimes he's a little bit too melancholic and self-deprecating for me and I want to stop him and shake him back to his senses, but mostly I pore over his words with admiration and awe. There is an engaging balance between style and substance in his work that makes each journal entry uniquely interesting.

When I found that Tolstoy had a copy of Amiel which he read regularly, I became most interested. This was before I owned a Kindle and downloaded a free copy. I first bought a very old and ragged edition of the journal, published in--I think--the 1930s. When it came in the mail, I was almost afraid to touch it for fear that it might crumble in my handful of eager fingers. The pages were quite yellowed, as if archived in someone's sunny, warm library for most of a century. The spine and binding were ruined, and I trust that was due to regular and faithful reading.

When I got my hands on this ragged copy, I bought special glue, binder and mending tape, and set about making major repairs. After gluing and taping, I put it in a self-made press for a day to solidify the adhesives. When the book dried, I wrapped it in a cover made from a brown paper bag, to protect the outside from all the vermin of the world that causes one's words to become damaged and obscured. I knew from the few passages I had read that I would enjoy him for a long time. Would owning an older edition make the words more authentic? Well, maybe not, but it's been fun to imagine such.

When I first began to maintain a journal several years ago, I wrestled with what I might put into it, and decided to read the journals of others to get some ideas for my own. I didn't find very many that spoke to me. Some of Montaigne's personal essays helped me form and arrange a few of my thoughts, and then much later Thoreau's journal became a source of inspiration. A journal can be a diary or a blog, and many are available for others to read. Amiel's journal flows more like it's in its own category of writing. I haven't read anything quite like it.

I hold on to sources that speak to me. Sometimes if I put a book down for several months or year, it sounds different when I pick it up again. I don't have a good formula or definition for what works for me. If someone were to tell me that I would find the obscure writings of a professor of moral philosopher to be interesting, I wouldn't believe them. Amiel for me is one of those that transcends all the formulas, all the Amazon recommendations. His journal was a place for him to tap into his inner workings, even though at times the writing is so polished that it seems to have been written for publication.

Here I am today, sifting through a couple of Amiel's journal entries. His observation power is intense, his sense of life is keen and grand. I miss his words when I haven't read them for awhile, and think of them as those of a friend. His life-long quest to bring truth and beauty into the world is something I look forward to reading a little of each day.