I am astonished that love, which is not a disease, should have made you ill, and that it should have exactly the opposite effect upon me.

Is it possible that I am mistaken, and that my feeling towards you should not be love?
You saw me very cheerful when I came in this morning; it is because I have been dreaming all night, but my dreams did not keep me awake; only several times I woke up to ascertain whether my dream was true, for I thought I was near you; and every time, finding that it was not so, I quickly went to sleep again in the hope of continuing my happy dream, and every time I succeeded.

After such a night, was it not natural for me to be cheerful this morning?
My dear abbe, if love is a torment for you I am very sorry, but would it be possible for you to live without love?
I will do anything you order me to do, but, even if your cure depended upon it, I would not cease to love you, for that would be impossible.

Yet if to heal your sufferings it should be necessary for you to love me no more, you must do your utmost to succeed, for I would much rather see you alive without love, than dead for having loved too much.

Only try to find some other plan, for the one you have proposed makes me very miserable.