“Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.”

“How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein, 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?”

“Sounds a little like my quote for the week. Do you want to hear it? This is by Augustine: O soul, He only who created thee can satisfy thee. If thou ask for anything else, it is thy misfortune, for He alone made thee in His image can satisfy thee. That's rich, isn't it?”

“Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,Alone and palely loitering?”

“But, oh, when gloomy doubts prevail,I fear to call thee mine;The springs of comfort seem to fail,And all my hopes decline.Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?Thou art my only trust;And still my soul would cleave to thee,Though prostrate in the dust.”

“Heaven is for thee too highTo know what passes there; be lowly wise.Think only what concerns thee and thy being;Dream not of other worlds, what creatures thereLive, in what state, condition, or degree,Contented that thus far hath been revealed.”