I Am Malicious Because I Am Miserable

My Reign Is Not Yet Over... You Live, And My Power Is Complete. Follow Me; I Seek The Everlasting Ices Of The North, Where You Will Feel The Misery Of Cold And Frost To Which I Am Impassive. You Will Find Near This Place, If You Follow Not Too Tardily, A Dead Hare; Eat And Be Refreshed. Come On, My Enemy; We Have Yet To Wrestle For Our Lives; But Many Hard And Miserable Hours Must You Endure Until That Period Shall Arrive.

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.

Invention Consists In The Capacity Of Seizing On The Capabilities Of A Subject, And In The Power Of Moulding And Fashioning Ideas Suggested To It.

I, A Miserable Wretch, Haunted By A Curse That Shut Up Every Avenue To Enjoyment.

Our Feelings Probably Are Not Less Strong At Fifty Than They Were Ten Or Fifteen Years Before; But They Have Changed Their Objects, And Dwell On Far Different Prospects. At Five-and-thirty A Man Thinks Of What His Own Existence Is; When The Maturity Of Age Has Grown Into Its Autumn, He Is Wrapt Up In That Of Others. The Loss Of Wife Or Child Then Becomes More Deplorable, As Being Impossible To Repair; For No Fresh Connection Can Give Us Back The Companion Of Our Earlier Years, Nor A "new-sprung Race" Compensate For That, Whose Career We Hoped To See Run.