will try to gather a few the most like gold that it may be guessed by the charitable whether or not a once flowed there if there be miracles they are those that are in our own breast what we do not know we call by that name how astonished almost how ashamed are we when the inspired moment comes and we get to know them one is late in learning to lie and late in learning to speak the truth i cannot because i cannot lie fancy not that i take credit for it i cannot just as one cannot play upon the in the meanest hut is a romance if you knew the hearts there so long as we do not take even the injustice which is done us and which forces the burning tears from us so long as we do not take even this for just and right we are in the without dawn with despair � but let it be genuine and you will have a noble harvest misery is ashamed of itself hides itself and does not complain you may know it by that what a commonplace man if he did not live in the same time with us no mortal would mention him have you remarked that whenever lie speaks of the water is always great as is when he speaks of the stars if one were to say you think it easy to be original but no it is difficult it costs a whole life of labor and exertion � you would think him mad and ask no more questions of him and yet his opinion would be altogether true and plain enough withal original i grant every man might be and must be if men did not almost always admit mere into their head and fling them again whoever honestly questions himself and faithfully answers is busied continually with all that presents itself in life and is incessantly had the thing been invented never so long before honesty belongs as a first condition to good thinking and there are almost as few absolute von l� dances as genius would always be al but there are of them genuine they have always enough to be he the tumbled out on me his definition of genius the old distinctions of intellect and heart as if there ever was or could be a intellect with a mean heart when i think of him tears come into my eyes all other men i love with my own strength he teaches me to love my poet slave trade war marriage working and they are astonished and keep and the whole world is properly a tragic em � here the feel that i am as unique as the greatest appearance in this earth the greatest artist philosopher or poet is not above me we are of the same element in the same rank and stand together whichever would the other only himself but to me it was appointed not to write or act but to live i lay in till my century and then was in outward respects so away it is for this reason that i you but pain as i know it is a life too and i think with myself i am one of those figures which humanity was fated to and then never to use more never to have more me no one can comfort � why not be dear friend there are beautiful in life which belong neither to us nor to others beautiful i name them because they give us a freedom we could not get by sound sense who would to have a nervous fever and yet it may save one s life i love rage i use it and it � be not alarmed i am commonly calmer but when i write to a s heart it comes to pass that the laden horizon of my soul breaks out in lightning heavenly men love lightning to one thing i must write to thee what i thought of last night in bed and for the first time in my life that i as a relative and pupil of have from my childhood upwards occupied myself much with death thou believe but never did my own death affect me nay i did not even think of this fact that i was not affected by it now last night there was something i had to write i said must s know this things if he is to think of me after i am dead and it seemed to me as if i must die as if my heart were flitting away over this earth and i must w it and my death gave me pity for never before as i now saw had i thought that it would give anybody pity of thee i knew it would do so and yet it was the first time in my life i had seen this or known that i had never seen it in such solitude have i lived comprehend it i thought when i am dead then first will know what sufferings i had and all his will be in vain the figure of me meets him again through all eternity no more swept away am i then as our poor prince louis is and no one can be kind to me then with the strongest will with the exertion of despair no one and this thought of thee about me was what at last me i must write of this though it thee never so to a younger sister on her marriage in � paris since thy last letter i am sore downcast gone art thou no rose comes stepping in to me with true foot and heart who knows me altogether knows all my sorrows when i am sick of body or soul alone alone thou not to me any more thy room empty quite empty for ever empty thou art 