I saw no cause for their unhappiness, but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched.

Everything must have a beginning ... and that beginning must be linked to something that went before.

The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food.

I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.

I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, before misfortune had tainted my mind, and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self.

I am not a person of opinions because I feel the counter arguments too strongly.

A solitary being is by instinct a wanderer.