He Is Dead Who Called

But I Am A Blasted Tree; The Bolt Has Entered My Soul; And I Felt Then That I Should Survive To Exhibit What I Shall Soon Cease To Be - A Miserable Spectacle Of Wrecked Humanity, Pitiable To Others And Intolerable To Myself.

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

I Feel Exquisite Pleasure In Dwelling On The Recollections Of Childhood, Before Misfortune Had Tainted My Mind, And Changed Its Bright Visions Of Extensive Usefulness Into Gloomy And Narrow Reflections Upon Self.

It Was Very Different When The Masters Of Science Sought Immortality And Power; Such Views, Although Futile, Were Grand: But Now The Scene Was Changed. The Ambition Of The Inquirer Seemed To Limit Itself To The Annihilation Of Those Visions On Which My Interest In Science Was Chiefly Founded. I Was Required To Exchange Chimeras Of Boundless Grandeur For Realities Of Little Worth.

In My Joy I Thrust My Hand Into The Live Embers, But Quickly Drew It Out With A Cry Of Pain. How Strange, I Thought That The Same Cause Should Produce Such Opposite Effects.