Ennui, the demon, waited at the threshold of his noiseless refuge, and drove away the stirring hopes and enlivening expectations, which form the better part of life.

Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated.

It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.

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.

Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!

One as deformed and horrible as myself, could not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species, and have the same defects... with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being.