The Whole Series Of My Life Appeared

Poetry, And The Principle Of Self, Of Which Money Is The Visible Incarnation, Are The God And The Mammon Of The World.

The Sentiment Of Immediate Loss In Some Sort Decayed, While That Of Utter, Irremediable Loneliness Grew On Me With Time.

Polluted By Crimes, And Torn By The Bitterest Remorse, Where Can I Find Rest But In Death?

I Expected This Reception. All Men Hate The Wretched; How, Then, Must I Be Hated, Who Am Miserable Beyond All Living Things! Yet You, My Creator, Detest And Spurn Me, Thy Creature, To Whom Thou Art Bound By Ties Only Dissoluble By The Annihilation Of One Of Us. You Purpose To Kill Me. How Dare You Sport Thus With Life? Do Your Duty Towards Me, And I Will Do Mine Towards You And The Rest Of Mankind. If You Will Comply With My Conditions, I Will Leave Them And You At Peace; But If You Refuse, I Will Glut The Maw Of Death, Until It Be Satiated With The Blood Of Your Remaining Friends.

I Cherished Hope, It Is True, But It Vanished When My Person Reflected . . .