#i could write a whole ass essay about why it would be theo's favourite book

[apricusapollo]

quotes from frankenstein by mary shelley that remind me of theo raeken:

It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. 

It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction. 

It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed for ever – that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. 

I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.

My attention was fixed upon every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature.

But now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.  

Dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete! 

I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months, calm and serene joy. 

How sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection warmed and opened my senses. 

The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human beings!

She also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised to render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an ignominious grave, and I the cause!

He threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. 

I had none to support me; all looked on me as a wretched doomed to ignominy and perdition.

Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within me which nothing could extinguish.

Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear.

I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more was yet behind.

Instead of that serenity of conscience which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe. 

All sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my only consolation – deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

Often, I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my calamities for ever. 

Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of unalterable evils.

Banish those dark passions. Remember the friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. 

Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate.

All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! 

Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.

I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. 

I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.

Believe me, I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures, who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me.

Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no term with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. 

Listen to my tale; when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me.

If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. 

Was I, then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?

I learned that there was but one means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death – a state which I feared yet did not understand. 

Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.

Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.

They did not appear rich, but they were contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. 

I was alone. I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him. 

I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of it.

I am an unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation or friend upon earth.

Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? 

My feelings are those of rage and revenge

There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me and sent me forth to this insupportable misery. 

For the first time the feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent my mind towards injury and death.

I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.

The feelings of kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. 

My daily vows rose for revenge – a deep and deadly revenge, such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had endured.

I too can create desolation; my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him

I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I noy shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?

I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear. 

I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth. 

You will return and again seek their kindness, and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed. 

I felt then that I should survive the exhibit what I shall soon cease to be – a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

For an instant I dared to shake off my chains and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self. 

I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. 

I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!

Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest?

Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the hangman who would gain his fee?

I was overcome by gloom and misery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. 

Little happiness remains for us on earth, yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in you.

Memory brought madness with it,  and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and despondent. 

They were dead, and I lived.

My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me.

His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery and fiendlike malice.

The only joy that he can now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and death. Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and delirium. 

When younger I believed myself destined for great enterprise.

I am chained in an eternal hell.

If you had known me as I once was, you would not recognise me in this state of degradation. 

I have longed for a friend; I have sought one who would sympathise with and love me

The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. 

What does it avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destoyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst. 

A frightful selfishness hurried me on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse.

I knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the slave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested yet could not disobey.

It is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall.

It is not pity that you feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn from your power.

But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure.

I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal.

When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness.

The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.

For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires.

Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me?

I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on.

But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing.

You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. 

I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched.

I shall no longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my happiness.

Polluted by crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?

Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them for ever.

I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the agony of the torturing flames.