Matilda

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

I am alone – quite alone – in the world – the blight of misfortune has passed over me and withered me; I know that I am about to die and I feel happy – joyous.

after watching almost all the wednesday episodes i think its time to read as much Mary Shelley, edgar allen poe, and agatha christie as i can.

I believe that I bore an individual attachment to every tree in our park; every animal that inhabited it knew me and I loved them.

and the bitter tears she shed at parting were the last I saw flow for love of me for many years.

yet I loved all the changes of Nature; and rain, and storm, and the beautiful clouds of heaven brought their delights with them.

But my pleasures arose from the contemplation of nature alone, I had no companion: my warm affections finding no return from any other human heart were forced to run waste on inanimate objects.

I looked round and found none to love; but I quickly dried my tears. As I grew older books in some degree supplied the place of human intercourse:

I had acquired in my harp a companion in rainy days; a sweet soother of my feelings when any untoward accident ruffled them: I often addressed it as my only friend; I could pour forth to it my hopes and loves, and I fancied that its sweet accents answered me. I have now mentioned all my studies.

I was a solitary being, and from my infant years, ever since my dear nurse left me, I had been a dreamer.

And now I began to live.