Poetry, And The Principle Of Self, Of

I Collected The Instruments Of Life Around Me, That I Might Infuse A Spark Of Being Into The Lifeless Thing That Lay At My Feet. It Was Already One In The Morning; The Rain Pattered Dismally Against The Panes, And My Candle Was Nearly Burnt Out, When, By The Glimmer Of The Half-extinguished Light, I Saw The Dull Yellow Eye Of The Creature Open; It Breathed Hard, And A Convulsive Motion Agitated Its Limbs.

Of What A Strange Nature Is Knowledge! It Clings To A Mind When It Has Once Seized On It Like A Lichen On A Rock." - Frankenstein P115

With How Many Things Are We On The Brink Of Becoming Acquainted, If Cowardice Or Carelessness Did Not Restrain Our Inquiries.

And The Violet Lay Dead While The Odour Flew On The Wings Of The Wind O'er The Waters Blue.

There Is Love In Me The Likes Of Which You've Never Seen. There Is Rage In Me The Likes Of Which Should Never Escape. If I Am Not Satisfied Int He One, I Will Indulge The Other.