Solitude Becomes A Sort Of Tangible Enemy,

Life, Although It May Only Be An Accumulation Of Anguish, Is Dear To Me, And I Will Defend It.

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.

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.

It Is With Considerable Difficulty That I Remember The Original Era Of My Being