Book: The sorrows of young Werther. Page 1

Ah, such is the frailty of man, that even where he really asserts its existence, where it creates the right impression from his presence, in memory and in the soul of his loved ones, even there he was destined to fade away, to disappear so quickly!

Wilhelm, what are we a world without love! Same as a magic lantern without light. As soon as you insert the bulb, how bright the picture will zapestret on a white wall! And let this be only a fleeting Mirage, still, we as kids, are happy, looking at him, and admire a miraculous visions.

I don't like dots, but then somehow it can not be expressed and are expressed, in my opinion, clear enough.

When I look in her black eyes, as I have been good.

Imagination is truly a gift from the gods!

Feelings and actions are as diverse as the varieties of noses between aquiline and snub.

Indeed I am every day more convinced, my friend, that it is foolish to judge others by yourself. I have so much trouble with myself, and my heart is so obstinate that I care very little for the others, only would they not care about me.

You don't feel, don't understand what brokenness in your heart, in your troubled mind is the cause of all sorrows...

Oh, surely people were also unhappy to me?

Our imagination, by its very nature seeks to rise above the world, nourished by the fantastic images of poetry, draws a number of people standing far above us, and everybody but us, seems to us to be unusual, every other person seems perfect. And this is quite natural. We at every step to feel how much we lack, and often see the other person that they were deprived of themselves, ascribing to him your own qualities, with an unshakable peace of mind in the bargain.

Since we are so created that all try to themselves and to everything - so joy and sorrow depend on what surrounds us, and there is nothing more dangerous than loneliness.

Since I spend entire days on people and see their deeds and habits, I became much more forgiving to yourself.

People can bring joy, sorrow, pain only to a certain extent, and when this degree is exceeded, he dies.

For man, carried away by passion, loses the ability to reason, and look at him as a drunk or lunatic.