Invention Consists In The Capacity Of Seizing

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

How Mutable Are Our Feelings, And How Strange Is That Clinging Love We Have Of Life Even In The Excess Of Misery!

If Our Impulses Were Confined To Hunger, Thirst, And Desire, We Might Be Nearly Free; But Now We Are Moved By Every Wind That Blows And A Chance Word Or Scene That That Word May Convey To Us.

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

I Am Alone And Miserable. Only Someone As Ugly As I Am Could Love Me.