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even in the memory； in the heart； of his beloved； there also he
must perish； vanish； and that quickly。
OCTOBER 27。
I could tear open my bosom with vexation to think how little we
are capable of influencing the feelings of each other。 No one
can communicate to me those sensations of love； joy； rapture； and
delight which I do not naturally possess； and； though my heart may
glow with the most lively affection； I cannot make the happiness
of one in whom the same warmth is not inherent。
OCTOBER 27： Evening。
I possess so much； but my love for her absorbs it all。 I possess
so much； but without her I have nothing。
OCTOBER 30。
One hundred times have I been on the point of embracing her。
Heavens！ what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing
and repassing before us； and yet not dare to lay hold of it！
And laying hold is the most natural of human instincts。 Do not
children touch everything they see？ And I！
NOVEMBER 3。
Witness； Heaven； how often I lie down in my bed with a wish； and
even a hope； that I may never awaken again。 And in the morning；
when I open my eyes； I behold the sun once more； and am wretched。
If I were whimsical； I might blame the weather； or an acquaintance；
or some personal disappointment； for my discontented mind； and then
this insupportable load of trouble would not rest entirely upon
myself。 But； alas！ I feel it too sadly。 I am alone the cause
of my own woe； am I not？ Truly； my own bosom contains the source
of all my sorrow； as it previously contained the source of all my
pleasure。 Am I not the same being who once enjoyed an excess of
happiness； who； at every step； saw paradise open before him； and
whose heart was ever expanded toward the whole world？ And this
heart is now dead； no sentiment can revive it； my eyes are dry；
and my senses； no more refreshed by the influence of soft tears；
wither and consume my brain。 I suffer much； for I have lost the
only charm of life： that active； sacred power which created worlds
around me； it is no more。 When I look from my window at the
distant hills； and behold the morning sun breaking through the
mists； and illuminating the country around； which is still wrapped
in silence； whilst the soft stream winds gently through the willows；
which have shed their leaves； when glorious nature displays all
her beauties before me； and her wondrous prospects are ineffectual
to extract one tear of joy from my withered heart； I feel that in
such a moment I stand like a reprobate before heaven； hardened；
insensible； and unmoved。 Oftentimes do I then bend my knee to the
earth； and implore God for the blessing of tears； as the desponding
labourer in some scorching climate prays for the dews of heaven
to moisten his parched corn。
But I feel that God does not grant sunshine or rain to our
importunate entreaties。 And oh； those bygone days； whose memory
now torments me！ why were they so fortunate？ Because I then
waited with patience for the blessings of the Eternal； and received
his gifts with the grateful feelings of a thankful heart。
NOVEMBER 8。
Charlotte has reproved me for my excesses； with so much tenderness
and goodness！ I have lately been in the habit of drinking more
wine than heretofore。 〃Don't do it；〃 she said。 〃Think of Charlotte！〃
〃Think of you！〃 I answered； 〃need you bid me do so？ Think of you
I do not think of you： you are ever before my soul！ This very
morning I sat on the spot where； a few days ago； you descended
from the carriage； and〃 She immediately changed the subject to
prevent me from pursuing it farther。 My dear friend； my energies
are all prostrated： she can do with me what she pleases。
NOVEMBER 15。
I thank you； Wilhelm； for your cordial sympathy； for your excellent
advice； and I implore you to be quiet。 Leave me to my sufferings。
In spite of my wretchedness； I have still strength enough for
endurance。 I revere religion you know I do。 I feel that it
can impart strength to the feeble and comfort to the afflicted；
but does it affect all men equally？ Consider this vast universe：
you will see thousands for whom it has never existed； thousands
for whom it will never exist； whether it be preached to them； or
not； and must it； then； necessarily exist for me？ Does not the
Son of God himself say that they are his whom the Father has given
to him？ Have I been given to him？ What if the Father will retain
me for himself； as my heart sometimes suggests？ I pray you； do
not misinterpret this。 Do not extract derision from my harmless
words。 I pour out my whole soul before you。 Silence were otherwise
preferable to me； but I need not shrink from a subject of which
few know more than I do myself。 What is the destiny of man； but
to fill up the measure of his sufferings； and to drink his allotted
cup of bitterness？ And if that same cup proved bitter to the God
of heaven； under a human form； why should I affect a foolish pride；
and call it sweet？ Why should I be ashamed of shrinking at that
fearful moment； when my whole being will tremble between existence
and annihilation； when a remembrance of the past； like a flash of
lightning； will illuminate the dark gulf of futurity； when everything
shall dissolve around me； and the whole world vanish away？ Is not
this the voice of a creature oppressed beyond all resource；
self…deficient； about to plunge into inevitable destruction； and
groaning deeply at its inadequate strength； 〃My God！ my God！ why
hast thou forsaken me？〃 And should I feel ashamed to utter the
same expression？ Should I not shudder at a prospect which had its
fears； even for him who folds up the heavens like a garment？
NOVEMBER 21。
She does not feel； she does not know； that she is preparing a poison
which will destroy us both； and I drink deeply of the draught which
is to prove my destruction。 What mean those looks of kindness with
which she often often？ no； not often； but sometimes； regards me；
that complacency with which she hears the involuntary sentiments
which frequently escape me； and the tender pity for my sufferings
which appears in her countenance？
Yesterday； when I took leave she seized me by the hand； and said；
〃Adieu； dear Werther。〃 Dear Werther！ It was the first time she
ever called me dear： the sound sunk deep into my heart。 I have
repeated it a hundred times； and last night； on going to bed； and
talking to myself of various things； I suddenly said； 〃Good night；
dear Werther！〃 and then could not but laugh at myself。
NOVEMBER 22
I cannot pray； 〃Leave her to me ！〃 and yet she often seems to
belong to me。 I cannot pray； 〃Give her to me！〃 for she is
another's。 In this way I affect mirth over my troubles； and；
if I had time； I could compose a whole litany of antitheses。
NOVEMBER 24。
She is sensible of my sufferings。 This morning her look pierced
my very soul。 I found her alone； and she was silent： she steadfastly
surveyed me。 I no longer saw in her face the charms of beauty or
the fire of genius： these had disappeared。 But I was affected by
an expression much more touching； a look of the deepest sympathy
and of the softest pity。 Why was I afraid to throw myself at