Frankenstein

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

for nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose,—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.

when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences.

I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation;

When you read their writings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and garden of roses, in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart.

“but is it not a duty to the survivors, that we should refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief?

I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with knowledge.

if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear;

a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain amidst its enjoyments.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!

life is obstinate, and clings closest where it is most hated.

The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around, and to cast a shadow, which was felt but seen not, around the head of the mourner.

I was the slave, not the master of an impulse, which I detested, yet could not disobey.