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Even the eternal skies weep, I thought is there any shame then, that mortal man should spend himself in tears?
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
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Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
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The labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.
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It is a strange feeling for a girl when first she finds the power put into her hand of influencing the destiny of another to happiness or misery. She is like a magician holding for the first time a fairy wand, not having yet had experience of its potency.
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You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.
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If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind.
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A lofty sense of independence is, in man, the best privilege of his nature.
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But he found that a traveller's life is one that includes much pain amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch and when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.
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What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?
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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.
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Polluted by crimes, and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?
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Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine, or the clouds might lour: but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before.
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She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Solitude was my only consolation - deep, dark, deathlike solitude.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Sorrow only increased with knowledge.
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Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
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When falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness?
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