I beheld the wretch-the miserable monster whom I had created.

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

When falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness?

How dreadful it is, to emerge from the oblivion of slumber, and to receive as a good morrow the mute wailing of one's own hapless heart - to return from the land of deceptive dreams to the heavy knowledge of unchanged disaster!

I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.

I am alone and miserable. Only someone as ugly as I am could love me.