You are suffering, my dearest creature—only now have I learned that letters must be posted very early in the morning. Mondays, Thursdays—the only days on which the mail coach goes from here to K. You are suffering—ah! Wherever I am there you are also. I shall arrange affairs between us so that I shall live and live with you, what a life! Thus! Thus without you—pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither—which I as little try to deserve as I deserve it.
Humility of man toward man—it pains me—and when I consider myself in connection with the universe, what am I and what is he whom we call the greatest—and yet—herein lies the divine in man. I weep when I reflect that you will probably not receive the first intelligence from me until Saturday—much as you love me, I love you more—but do not ever conceal your thoughts from me—good night—as I am taking the baths I must go to bed. Oh, God! So near so far! Is our love not truly a celestial edifice—firm as Heaven’s vault£¿
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