If Our Impulses Were Confined To Hunger,

I Collected The Instruments Of Life Around Me, That I Might Infuse A Spark Of Being Into The Lifeless Thing That Lay At My Feet. It Was Already One In The Morning; The Rain Pattered Dismally Against The Panes, And My Candle Was Nearly Burnt Out, When, By The Glimmer Of The Half-extinguished Light, I Saw The Dull Yellow Eye Of The Creature Open; It Breathed Hard, And A Convulsive Motion Agitated Its Limbs.

His Conversation Was Marked By Its Happy Abundance.

Everything Must Have A Beginning ... And That Beginning Must Be Linked To Something That Went Before.

...once I Falsely Hoped To Meet The Beings Who, Pardoning My Outward Form, Would Love Me For The Excellent Qualities Which I Was Capable Of Unfolding.

I Saw -- With Shut Eyes, But Acute Mental Vision -- I Saw The Pale Student Of Unhallowed Arts Kneeling Beside The Thing He Had Put Together. I Saw The Hideous Phantasm Of A Man Stretched Out, And Then, On The Working Of Some Powerful Engine, Show Signs Of Life, And Stir With An Uneasy, Half-vital Motion.