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No longer sustained by the violence of his passions, He feels all the monotony of his way of living, and his heart becomes the prey of Ennui and weariness.
This is the kind of writing I love!
I rejoiced as does a Father in the perfections of his Son.
‘Father!’ continued He in faltering accents, ‘I am a Woman!’
Did not see that coming...
‘Either your hand guides me to Paradise, or my own dooms me to perdition! Speak
Ambrosio was yet to learn, that to an heart unacquainted with her, Vice is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.
He shuddered at the void which her absence would leave in his bosom. He looked with disgust on the monotony of a Convent, and breathed a sigh towards that world from which He was for ever separated.
That is some INTENSE desire
Fate obliges me to be constantly in movement: I am not permitted to pass more than a fortnight in the same place. I have no Friend in the world, and from the restlessness of my destiny I never can acquire one. Fain would I lay down my miserable life, for I envy those who enjoy the quiet of the Grave: But Death eludes me, and flies from my embrace. In vain do I throw myself in the way of danger. I plunge into the Ocean; The Waves throw me back with abhorrence upon the shore: I rush into fire; The flames recoil at my approach: I oppose myself to the fury of Banditti; Their swords become blunted,
...more
‘Monster of perfidy and ingratitude, how have I been deceived in you! I looked upon you as my Friend, my Protector: I trusted myself in your hands with confidence, and relying upon your honour, thought that mine ran no risque. And ’tis by you, whom I adored, that I am covered with infamy! ’Tis by you that I have been seduced into breaking my vows to God, that I am reduced to a level with the basest of my sex! Shame upon you, Villain, you shall never see me more!’
All are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. A bad composition carries with it its own punishment, contempt and ridicule.
’Tis not the crime which holds your hand, but the punishment; ’Tis not respect for God which restrains you, but the terror of his vengeance!
You, who first seduced me to violate my vows; You, who first rouzed my sleeping vices, made me feel the weight of Religion’s chains, and bad me be convinced that guilt had pleasures.
‘Be your own eyes the Judge.’
He beheld a Figure more beautiful than Fancy’s pencil ever drew.
