To this point Love shall never lead me.

She yields me the highest delight, but she shall never bring me to self-destruction.

Grief for her may, like a destructive whirlwind, crush every blossom of my heart; but she shall never destroy me.

The man, the poet, must stand higher than the lover; for where the latter is about to yield to despair, the former will rise, and, with the defiance of Prometheus, challenge the gods to recognize the godlike similitude, that man can rise superior to sorrow, never despairing, never cursing Fate if all the rosy dreams of youth are not realities, but with upturned gaze stride over the waste places of life, consoling himself with the thought that only magnanimous souls can suffer and conquer magnanimously.

Vanquished grief brings us nearer to the immortal, and gradually bears us from this vale of sorrow up to the brighter heights, nearer to God--the earth with her petty confusion lying like a worthless tool at our feet!" "It is heavenly to be able to say that, and divine to perceive it," cried Moritz, bursting into tears.