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.

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

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.

My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.

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

Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?

Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world.