How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!
Mary Shelley, "Frankenstein", Ch. 20.
Death snatches away many blooming children, the only hopes of their doting parents; how many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture?
Mary Shelley, "Frankenstein", Ch. 21.
Even where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives.
Mary Shelley, "Frankenstein", Ch. 24.
Heavy misfortunes have befallen us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love for those whom we have lost to those who yet live.
Mary Shelley, "Frankenstein", Ch. 21.
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