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how long would they feel the void which my loss would make in their existence?
Yes, such is the frailty of man, that even there, where he has the greatest consciousness of his own being, where he makes the strongest and most forcible impression, even in the memory, in the heart, of his beloved, there also he must perish,—vanish,—and that quickly.
though my heart may glow with the most lively affection, I cannot make the happiness of one in whom the same warmth is not inherent.
I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I possess so much, but without her I have nothing.
what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to lay hold of it!
And in the morning, when I open my eyes, I behold the sun once more, and am wretched.
I am alone the cause of my own woe, am I not?
And this heart is now dead, no sentiment can revive it; my eyes are dry; and my senses, no more refreshed by the influence of soft tears, wither and consume my brain.
“need you bid me do so? Think of you—I do not think of you: you are ever before my soul!
Consider this vast universe: you will see thousands for whom it has never existed, thousands for whom it will never exist, whether it be preached to them, or not; and must it, then, necessarily exist for me?
What is the destiny of man, but to fill up the measure of his sufferings, and to drink his allotted cup of bitterness?
I cannot pray, “Leave her to me!” and yet she often seems to belong to me. I cannot pray, “Give her to me!” for she is another’s. In this way I affect mirth over my troubles; and, if I had time, I could compose a whole litany of antitheses.
Alas! there was a time when I was so happy; but that is past, and I am now—”
God of heaven! and is this the destiny of man? Is he only happy before he has acquired his reason, or after he has lost it?
And yet I envy your fate: I envy the delusion to which you are a victim.
You do not know, you do not feel, that in your own distracted heart and disordered brain dwells the source of that unhappiness which all the potentates on earth cannot relieve.
I am happy only where thou art, and in thy presence am I content to suffer or enjoy.”
Soon as I close my eyes, here, in my brain, where all the nerves of vision are concentrated, her dark eyes are imprinted.
And, whilst he fondly dreams that he is grasping at infinity, does he not feel compelled to return to a consciousness of his cold, monotonous existence?
A heavy weight lay upon his soul, deep melancholy had taken possession of him, and his mind knew no change save from one painful thought to another.
O Wilhelm, how willingly could I abandon my existence to ride the whirlwind, or to embrace the torrent!
And a beam of past happiness streamed upon me, as the mind of a captive is illumined by dreams of flocks and herds
My senses are bewildered, my recollection is confused, mine eyes are bathed in tears—I am ill; and yet I am well—I wish for nothing—I have no desires—it were better I were gone.
It has ever been my fate to give pain to those whose happiness I should have promoted.
I fear, I much fear, that it is only the impossibility of possessing me which makes your desire for me so strong.”
the cold grave will hold the inanimate remains of that restless and unhappy being who, in the last moments of his existence, knew no pleasure so great as that of conversing with you!
And in the bright, quiet evenings of summer, when you sometimes wander toward the mountains, let your thoughts then turn to me:
Amid all these considerations she felt deeply but indistinctly that her own real but unexpressed wish was to retain him for herself,
these two are clowns
My life flies away like a dream. Why should I stay behind?
but, so straitened is our feeble nature, we have no clear conception of the beginning or the end of our existence.
and in this world it is a sin to love you, to wish to tear you from his embrace. Yes, it is a crime; and I suffer the punishment, but I have enjoyed the full delight of my sin.
I behold the stars which illumine the eternal heavens.
