“But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be - a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.”
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It is justice, not charity, that is wanting in the world.
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The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food.
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I am very averse to bringing myself forward in print, but as my account will only appear as an appendage to a former production, and as it will be confined to such topics as have connection with my authorship alone, I can hardly accuse myself of a personal intrusion.
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Teach him to think for himself? Oh, my God, teach him rather to think like other people!
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