I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whence it came, as vainly as before: it seemed in me not in the external world. I asked, was it a mere nervous impression a delusion? I could not conceive or believe: it was more like an inspiration.

I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.

I ask you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self, and best earthly companion.

Strange that grief should now almost choke me, because another human being's eye has failed to greet mine.

Human beings never enjoy complete happiness in this world. I was not born for a different destiny to the rest of my species: to imagine such a lot befalling me is a fairy tale -- a daydream." "Which I can and will realise. I shall begin today.

I'm just going to write because I cannot help it.

Men, in general, are a sort of scum, very different to anything of which you have an idea.