Elegance Is Inferior To Virtue.

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.

My Person Was Hideous And My Stature Gigantic. What Did This Mean? Who Was I? What Was I? Whence Did I Come? What Was My Destination? These Questions Continually Recurred, But I Was Unable To Solve Them.

Thus Strangely Are Our Souls Constructed, And By Slight Ligaments Are We Bound To Prosperity And Ruin.

What Is There So Fearful As The Expectation Of Evil Tidings Delayed? ... Misery Is A More Welcome Visitant When She Comes In Her Darkest Guise And Wraps Us In Perpetual Black, For Then The Heart No Longer Sickens With Disappointed Hope.