Not that I shall love you less, but that I shall love you less burningly, and therefore less selfishly.

I have now written to you all that it becomes you to receive from me.
My horse waits below to bear me from this city, and forever from your vicinity.

For ever!---ay, you are the only blessing forever forbidden me.

Wealth I may gain, a fair name, even glory I may perhaps aspire to,--to heaven itself I may find a path; but of you my very dreams cannot give me the shadow of a hope.

I do not say, if you could pierce my soul while I write, that you would pity me.
You may think it strange, but I would not have your pity for worlds; I think I would even rather have your hate,--pity seems so much like contempt.