Nothing Is So Painful To The Human

Polluted By Crimes, And Torn By The Bitterest Remorse, Where Can I Find Rest But In Death?

My Dreams Were At Once More Fantastic And Agreeable Than My Writings.

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.

From My Birth I Have Aspired Like The Eagle - But Unlike The Eagle, My Wings Have Failed. . . . Congratulate Me Then That I Have Found A Fitting Scope For My Powers.

Ah! It Is Well For The Unfortunate To Be Resigned, But For The Guilty There Is No Peace.