Solitude Becomes A Sort Of Tangible Enemy,

I Saw And Heard Of None Like Me. Was I Then A Monster, A Blot Upon The Earth, From Which All Men Fled, And Whom All Men Disowned?

We Never Do What We Wish When We Wish It, And When We Desire A Thing Earnestly, And It Does Arrive, That Or We Are Changed, So That We Slide From The Summit Of Our Wishes And Find Ourselves Where We Were.

...if I See But One Smile On Your Lips When We Meet, Occasioned By This Or Any Other Exertion Of Mine, I Shall Need No Other Happiness.

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.

The Air Of Fashion, Which Many Young People Are So Eager To Attain, Always Strikes Me Like The Studied Attitudes Of Some Modern Prints, Copied With Tasteless Servility After The Antigue; The Soul Is Left Out, And None Of The Parts Are Tied Together By What May Properly Be Termed Character.