Since I came to
Beverly I have been looking over "Wilhelm Meister" for the first
time. I am disappointed in it, and have little respect for Goethe as a man,
great as was his genius. Great thoughts he had, and they shine like
constellations through the book; artistic, no doubt he was, but everything that
relates to principle or right feeling is terribly chaotic, it seems to me. And
Wilhelm is an embodiment of high-strung selfishness, under a cloak of
generosity and spontaneous good feeling. If I could despise any man, it would
be such a one as he.
SOURCE: Daniel
Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life,
Letters, and Diary, p. 78
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