Mary Shelley

 Mathilda

Wild beyond the imagination of the happy are the thoughts bred by misery and despair.

I was not usually superstitious but in wretchedness every one is so.

I gave relief to the oppression of heart that I felt by words, and groans, and heart rending sighs: but nature became wearied, and this more violent grief gave place to a passionate but mute flood of tears: my whole soul seemed to dissolve [in] them.