Mary Shelley — "The human senses are imperfect. They cannot bear the light of truth."
The human senses are imperfect. They cannot bear the light of truth.
The human senses are imperfect. They cannot bear the light of truth.
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"Oh! grief is fantastic; it weaves a web on which to trace the history of its woe from every form and change around; it incorporates itself with all living nature; it finds sustenance in every object; …"
"It would be an endless task to trace the variety of meannesses, cares, and sorrows into which women are plunged by the prevailing opinion that they were created rather to feel than reason."
"How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!"
"What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?"
"I have no power to give you happiness, but I could make you an object and a cause of misery."
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