"The miseries of life chain me to the dust, and do not permit me to mount to the heights which a hero like Goethe reaches victorious.

It is indeed sublime to conquer one's self, and be willing to resign the happiness which flees us.

But see how weak I am--I cannot do it! I can never give up the one I love.

It seems as if I could move heaven and earth to conquer at last, and that I must die if I do not succeed--die like Werther." Goethe's eyes flashed with anger, and with heightened color he exclaimed: "You all repeat the same litany--do not make me answerable for all your weaknesses, and blame poor Werther for the creations of your own imagination.

I, who am the author of Werther, am free from this abominable sentimentality.