There exist crab-like souls, which creep continually towards darkness, retrograding in life rather than advancing in it, employing experience to diminish themselves, growing continually worse, becoming more and more enveloped in increasing malignity, and retreating, not into old age, but into corruption.

Those born to wealth, and who have the means of gratifying every wish, know not what is to suffer.

I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces, and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me? You would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature.

I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare I do not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world except John Reed.

I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.