Letter 13a London, 9 February 1874 [To Carolien van Stockum-Haanebeek]
My dear Carolien,
I feel the urge to write you a few words. How nice were the days 鈥渨enn [sic] wir zusammen waren鈥?[when we were together]; rest assured that I never forget you, but I am not such a good hand at letter-writing as I should like to be. I live a rich life here, 鈥榟aving nothing yet possessing all.鈥?At times I am inclined to believe that I am gradually turning into a cosmopolite; that is, neither a Dutchman, nor an Englishman, nor yet a Frenchman, but simply a man. And as a homeland, the whole world, i.e. a small spot in the world where we are sent to stay. We have not got there yet, though I am straining after it, and perhaps may grasp it. And as my ideal, what Mauve called, 鈥淭hat is it.鈥?p style="line-height:25px;text-indent:32px"> Old girl, 脿 Dieu.
Yours truly, Vincent
A handshake for you and Willem, like old times, till your fingers hurt.