He must keep his eyes open, and not let his arms hang idly; for if he allows himself to be swallowed up he becomes a self-murderer, who, like Erostratus, destroyed the holy temple, and gained eternal fame through eternal shame." "What are you saying ?" cried Moritz, "you, the author of 'Werther,' of that immortal work which has drunk the tears of the whole world, and has become the Holy Testament for unhappy souls!" "Rather say for lovers," replied Goethe, "and add also those troubled spirits who think themselves poetical when they whine and howl; who cry over misfortune if Fate denies them the toy which their vanity, their ambition, or their amorousness, had chosen.

Do not burden me with what I am not guilty of; do not say that wine is a poison, because it is not good for the sick.

It is intended for well people; it animates and inspires them to fresh vigor.

Now please to consider yourself well, and not ill." "I am ill, indeed I am ill," sighed Moritz.

"Oh! continue to regard me with those eyes, which shine like stars into my benighted soul.