I Am Alone And Miserable. Only Someone

I Also Became A Poet, And For One Year Lived In A Paradise Of My Own Creation; I Imagined That I Also Might Obtain A Niche In The Temple Where The Names Of Homer And Shakespeare Are Consecrated.

Our Faults Are Apt To Assume Giant And Exaggerated Forms To Our Eyes In Youth.

In My Joy I Thrust My Hand Into The Live Embers, But Quickly Drew It Out With A Cry Of Pain. How Strange, I Thought That The Same Cause Should Produce Such Opposite Effects.

I Felt Emotions Of Gentleness And Pleasure, That Had Long Appeared Dead, Revive Within Me. Half Surprised By The Novelty Of These Sensations, I Allowed Myself To Be Borne Away By Them, And Forgetting My Solitude And Deformity, Dared To Be Happy.

Nothing Contributes So Much To Tranquilize The Mind As A Steady Purpose - A Point On Which The Soul May Fix Its Intellectual Eye.