marriage is usually considered the grave, and not the cradle of love.

There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.

I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.

marriage is usually considered the grave, and not the cradle of love.

Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming children, the only hopes of their doting parents: how many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I made, that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture? But I was doomed to live.

She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles.

From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty ambition.