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Friedrich Schiller

    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    Infamous! most infamous Charles! Oh, had I not my forebodings, when, even as a boy, he would scamper after the girls, and ramble about over hill and common with ragamuffin boys and all the vilest rabble; when he shunned the very sight of a church as a malefactor shuns a gaol, and would throw the pence he had wrung from your bounty into the hat of the first beggar he met, whilst we at home were edifying ourselves with devout prayers and pious homilies? Had I not my misgivings when he gave himself up to reading the a
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    Tobias? A hundred times over have I warned you—for my brotherly affection was ever kept in subjection to filial duty—that this forward youth would one day bring sorrow and disgrace on us all. Oh that he bore not the name of Moor! that my heart beat less warmly for him! This sinful affection, which I can not overcome, will one day rise up against me before the judgment-seat of heaven.
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    Oh! my prospects! my golden dreams!
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    ! my prospects! my golden dreams!
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    Ay, well I knew it. Exactly what I always feared. That fiery spirit, you used to say, which is kindling in the boy, and renders him so susceptible to impressions of the beautiful and grand—the ingenuousness which reveals his whole soul in his eyes—the tenderness of feeling which melts him into weeping sympathy at every tale of sorrow—the manly courage which impels him to the summit of giant oaks, and urges him over fosse and palisade and foaming torrents—that youthful thirst of honor—that unconquerable resolution—all those resplendent virtues which in the father's darling gave such promise— would ripen into the warm and sincere friend—the excellent citizen—the hero—the great, the very great man! Now, mark the result, father; the fiery spirit has developed itself—expanded—and behold its precious fruits. Observe this ingenuousness—how nicely it has changed into effrontery;—this tenderness of soul—how it displays itself in dalliance with coquettes, in susceptibility to the blandishments of a courtesan! See this fiery genius, how in six short years it hath burnt out the oil of life, and reduced his body to a living skeleton; so that passing scoffers point at him with a sneer and exclaim—"C'est l'amour qui a fait cela."
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    OLD M. And thou, too, my Francis, thou too? Oh, my children, how unerringly your shafts are levelled at my heart.
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    FRANCIS. You see that I too have a spirit; but my spirit bears the sting of a scorpion. And then it was "the dry commonplace, the cold, the wooden Francis," and all the pretty little epithets which the contrast between us suggested to your fatherly affection, when he was sitting on your knee, or playfully patting your cheeks? "He would die, forsooth, within the boundaries of his own domain, moulder away, and soon be forgotten;" while the fame of this universal genius would spread from pole to pole! Ah! the cold, dull, wooden Francis thanks thee, heaven, with uplifted hands, that he bears no resemblance to his brother.
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    , father, we will wipe them from your eyes. Your Francis will devote—his life to prolong yours. (Taking his hand with affected tenderness.) Your life is the oracle which I will especially consult on every undertaking—the mirror in which I will contemplate everything. No duty so sacred but I am ready to violate it for the preservation of your precious days. You believe me?

    Viser tydeligt at omsorgssvigtet samt jalousien gør at Frans hunger efter hans fars anderkendelser og kærlighed

    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    mercy, spare me! When the nurse first placed him in my arms, I held him up to Heaven and exclaimed, "Am I not truly blest?
    mettenielsenmettehas quoted2 years ago
    Is this filial gratitude for a father's tenderness? to sacrifice ten years of your life to the lewd pleasures of an hour? in one voluptuous moment to stake the honor of an ancestry which has stood unspotted through seven centuries? Do you call this a son? Answer? Do you call this your son?
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