But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are, have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.
Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform.
In the strange anomaly of my existence, feelings with me had never been of the heart, and my passions always were of the mind.
Convinced myself, I seek not to convince.
