Thus Strangely Are Our Souls Constructed, And

Listen To Me, Frankenstein. You Accuse Me Of Murder; And Yet You Would, With A Satisfied Conscience, Destroy Your Own Creature. Oh, Praise The Eternal Justice Of Man!

I Beheld The Wretch-the Miserable Monster Whom I Had Created.

Her Countenance Was All Expression; Her Eyes Were Not Dark But Impenetrably Deep; You Seemed To Discover Space After Space In Their Intellectual Glance.

A Truce To Philosophy!—life Is Before Me, And I Rush Into Possession. Hope, Glory, Love, And Blameless Ambition Are My Guides, And My Soul Knows No Dread. What Has Been, Though Sweet, Is Gone; The Present Is Good Only Because It Is About To Change, And The To Come Is All My Own.

Oh! Grief Is Fantastic; It Weaves A Web On Which To Trace The History Of Its Woe From Every Form And Change Around; It Incorporates Itself With All Living Nature; It Finds Sustenance In Every Object; As Light, It Fills All Things, And, Like Light, It Gives Its Own Colors To All.