Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine, or the clouds might lower; but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before.
Victor states a quiet universal: shock rearranges the world. The contrast between weather and perception shows grief’s filter—external brightness doesn’t reach the heart. Sorrow is measured here, not dramatic; he’s noticing how pain alters everything familiar. Shelley reminds us that catastrophe is psychological as much as eventful. The sentence widens the novel beyond its plot into shared human experience. It resonates because we all have days “after which” nothing looks the same. Change isn’t just an event; it’s a lens.