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16.5.1935
[Vienna] XIX, Strassergasse 47
Dear Lou
If one lives long enough (say about seventy-nine years), one may live to get a letter and even a photo from you—whatever the latter may look like. I refrain from sending you one of myself. What an amount of good nature and humour it takes to endure the gruesome business of growing old. The garden outside and the flowers in the room are beautiful, but the spring is a Fopperei,* as we say in Vienna. I am learning at last what it is to be cold. My doctor has ordered me to drink sugar water for my subnormal temperature, which makes one feel miserable.
Don't expect to hear anything intelligent from me. I don't know if I can still produce anything—I doubt it—but in any case I haven't got the time, so occupied am I in looking after my health. This is evidently like the Sibylline Books: the fewer there are left,