Men become cannibals of their own hearts; remorse, regret, and restless impatience usurp the place of more wholesome feeling: every thing seems better than that which is. — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
When I step into the batters box. The fans, the noise, the cheers, they all disappear. For that moment, the world is just a… — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
“...the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the future gilded by bright rays of hope, and anticipations of joy.” — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
A lofty sense of independence is, in man, the best privilege of his nature. — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
Standing armies can never consist of resolute robust men; they may be well-disciplined machines, but they will seldom contain men under the influence of… — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
“Of what a strange nature is knowledge! It clings to the mind when it has once seized on it like a lichen on the… — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy… — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
He is dead who called me into being, and when I shall be no more the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
After days and nights of incredible labor and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of generation and life. Nay, more, I became myself… — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
All judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty should escape. — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
“I considered the being whom I had cast among mankind and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes of horror, such as… — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
“But liberty had been a useless gift to me had I not, as I awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge.” — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
Solitude becomes a sort of tangible enemy, the more dangerous, because it dwells within the citadel itself. — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Copy Share Image
