The labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.

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

A truce to philosophy!—Life is before me, and I rush into possession. Hope, glory, love, and blameless ambition are my guides, and my soul knows no dread. What has been, though sweet, is gone; the present is good only because it is about to change, and the to come is all my own.

But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be - a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear!

But soon, I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct.

Sorrow only increased with knowledge.