by Johann Wolfgang On Goethe (Author)

How happy I am that I am gone My dear friend, what a thing is the heart of man To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love so dearly, and yet to feel happy I know you will forgive me. Have not other attachments been specially appointed by fate to torment a head like mine? Poor Leonora and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault, that, whilst the peculiar charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable entertainment, a passion for me was engendered in her feeble heart? And yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions?

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