Terror made me cruel.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?

The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.

I have no pity! I have no pity! The more worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething, and I grind with greater energy, in proportion to the increase of pain.

If I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it.

They forgot everything the minute they were together again.

Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.