I Am Not A Person

My Dreams Were At Once More Fantastic And Agreeable Than My Writings.

Precious Attribute Of Woe-worn Humanity! That Can Snatch Ecstatic Emotion, Even From Under The Very Share And Harrow, That Ruthlessly Ploughs Up And Lays Waste Every Hope.

Oh! Stars And Clouds And Winds, Ye Are All About To Mock Me; If Ye Really Pity Me, Crush Sensation And Memory; Let Me Become As Nought; But If Not, Depart, Depart, And Leave Me In Darkness.

Nothing Contributes So Much To Tranquilize The Mind As A Steady Purpose - A Point On Which The Soul May Fix Its Intellectual Eye.

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!