I cherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when my person reflected . . .

The world was to me a secret which I desired to devine.

Even the eternal skies weep, I thought; is there any shame then, that mortal man should spend himself in tears?

Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!

Solitude was my only consolation - deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

. . . the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.

Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine, or the clouds might lour: but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before.