Grief carries its own antidote along with it

that he wages a perpetual war against the happiness of mankind, and sets his engines of destruction at work against every object that presents itself.

I used to suppose that certain evils could never befall a being in possession of a sound mind; that true virtue supplies us with energy which vice can never resist; that it was always in our power to obstruct, by his own death, the designs …

In the midst of my despair, I do not disdain to contribute what little I can for the benefit of mankind.

I feel little reluctance in complying with your request. You know not fully the cause of my sorrows. You are a stranger to the depth of my distresses. Hence your efforts at consolation must necessarily fail.

Bloodshed is the trade, and horror is the element of this man.

Purposes fraught with horror, that shun the light, and contemplate the pollution of innocence are here engendered, and fostered, and reared to maturity.